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Chapter Text

Birds of a Feather

‘You will live,’ said Zeus, eyes cold. ‘It is the best punishment. You will live with your guilt and your shame. But you are hereby banned from Olympus, and from the demigod camps.’

Luke kept his eyes on the ground. But wait- had he said camps, as in plural? Eh, he guessed it didn’t really matter anymore. Not to him, anyways. He was longer one of the demigods. He was an outcast and he didn’t even have a purpose to keep him going.

‘Everyone will believe you are dead. So you cannot stay anywhere in New York, or California,’ the king of the gods said. ‘Begone, son of Hermes. I hope I never have to see you again.’

‘Yes sir,’ Luke said, blood on his lips, and then everything vanished.

He woke up in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Everything ached. He sat up with a groan and found the dagger that had previously been embedded in his flesh was now in one of his hands. So he wasn’t totally defenceless. He peered down at himself, pulled his shirt up, and found that his stab-wound (where he had tried- and almost succeeded- to kill himself; but at least he’d killed Kronos) was mostly healed (though it was at that stage where it could easily be re-torn). At least he had that.

He stood up and surveyed his surroundings. He was standing on a beach, where waves crashed against the shore brutally. Thanks to his internal clock, one of the few truly helpful gifts his father had given him, he knew he was in Virginia. Specifically, Virginia Beach. He wondered why he was specifically here- perhaps because Annabeth was from Richmond, the state’s capital?

Whatever the case, he shook his head and gazed out onto the beautiful Chesapeake Bay. It was sunset, so the water was dappled in multicolor- orange and pink and gold. He could’ve sworn he saw dolphins in the distance. His lips twitched. At least it was pretty.

He shook those thoughts away and started climbing the sand towards civilization. He had bigger issues to worry about. First of all- a normal life. He would never be able to manage it, not with there being probably dozens of arrest warrants out there for him due to shoplifting and also due to him being an unsolved mystery case in his home state. (Given that, he’d probably be on a fed database, and there would be a lot of unpleasant questions.) On top of those technicalities, he didn’t have a high school diploma or a GED (thanks, Chiron), and God knows what sort of jobs he would actually be able to apply for.

Not to mention, Luke Castellan was supposed to be dead- at least to the demigods. He had a feeling that if he used his birth name here, only two states down from New York, he’d attract some unwanted attention. Great. He scowled when he finally made it onto the pavement and he scanned the area. It was growing darker, and chillier, and he really didn’t want to steal anything. Stealing would only bring down the feds on him, attention that he did not want, and it reminded him too much of the siblings he had left behind. So he kept walking, and walking, on the side of the road. 

Eventually he found himself under one labeled Witchduck, and he collapsed wearily into a bush on the side of the road. His legs ached from the miles he had walked, his head was still fucked up from the blood loss he’d sustained earlier, and he was ravenously hungry. But somehow, he fell asleep. The universe showed him no more mercy. He dreamt. Not normal dreams, no; even cut off from the world of the divine, he was still a demigod, and thus he still had to dream as one.

Rosaries. Latin chanting: imperat tibi Deus Pater; imperat tibi Deus Filius; imperat tibi Deus Spiritus Sanctus. Imperat tibi majestas Christi, aeternum Dei Verbum caro factum, qui pro salute generis nostri tua invidia perditi, humillavit semetipsum factus obediens usque ad mortem; qui Ecclesiam suam aedificavit supra firmam petram, et portas inferi adversus eam numquam esse praevalituras edixit, cum ea ipse permansurus omnibus diebus usque ad consummationem saeculi. Then black eyes. 

He woke up with sweat running down his spine. What the hell was that all about? He stood up, gripping his dagger tightly. He had a feeling something dangerous was near. After all, he had just dreamed about the things necessary for a fucking exorcism, and possibly demonic eyes. He figured demons didn’t actually exist (daimons did, but they were a totally different breed), but better to be on his guard.

‘Oh, darling,’ a voice purred against the shell of his ear. ‘I’m very much real, I assure you.’

He turned around and moved back, dread crawling up his spine. He should have heard them coming. But it was almost as if they had teleported. He came face to face with a devilishly gorgeous woman with electric-blue dyed hair. Her eyes were pupil-less and as dark as a black hole. She wore a comfortable light blue sweater over black slacks and low high heels that glittered in the harsh lights of the street. 

‘Oh, you’re wonderful,’ she said, looking him up and down. ‘Simply stunning. I have heard a lot about you, Luke Castellan.’

Fuck. Looked like demons were real. Great. As if his life couldn’t get anymore messed up.

He gripped his dagger- Annabeth’s dagger- tightly, but carefully kept it out of sight. ‘What do you want?’

The demon marched closer, a seductive grin on her face. ‘Why, you of course. We’ve heard so much about you.’

‘Lady, please. I’m reluctantly pagan,’ Luke said.

‘Oh, no matter. Anyone can go to hell, sweetheart,’ the demon practically purred.  ‘You could be great. You…you could shift the tides of the war. You are the nine of wands, the hanged man, the chariot, the four of cups; an ally who could change the world.’

‘Well, tell Lilith or Lucifer to piss off. One of them’s your parent, right? Well, looks like you’ll have to go back and disappoint them,’ Luke snapped.

‘You know a lot for a pagan guy,’ the demon remarked, moving closer. 

‘My mother was Eastern Orthodox. So was my grandmother. They had faith- I never did.’

‘Oh, poor May Castellan,’ the demon sighed. ‘Insane for so long, only for sanity to come far too late. She thinks you are dead, you know, and it devastated her. Too bad you failed to burn the world down that hurt her so badly, the world that failed you…’

Something in Luke’s chest ached. His mother- her malady was gone? She was healed now? He forced himself to show no emotion, however. He knew all too well that the demon would exploit any weakness she found. Thankfully, he was a damn good actor, and the demon didn’t seem to notice that he had felt anything at all.

He tightened his grip on his dagger. Almost there, almost there, almost there…

‘I could give you another chance,’ the demon whispered, now practically on top of him again. ‘We could give you vengeance. Justice. We could aid you where Kronos could not. We could get your mother justice.’

Luke smiled and plunged the dagger into the demon’s chest. ‘Sorry, but I already lost my soul to a devil’s deal. Never again.’

The demon cried out, eyes flashing, and then the body she had been possessing crumpled to the ground. Luke pulled the dagger out.

‘I’m sorry. You deserved better than this,’ Luke told the corpse of the poor woman the demon had hijacked.

Unfortunately he could not bury her or burn here, not here, not surrounded by cars. He gave her one last nod and set off quickly, desperate to get moving before the police arrived. He’d had enough trouble with any kind of authority to last him a lifetime.  

*

Dean knelt by the woman’s corpse. ‘Here,’ he called.

They had been hunting a demon in Virginia Beach, and they had tracked her here.

Sam hurried over, Castiel by his side.

‘The demon?’ Dean’s brother asked.

‘Gone. Looks like she was stabbed and the demon…died,’ Dean said.

Castiel frowned. ‘Something is off.’

He knelt and ran his hands over the woman’s wound. His frown deepened.

‘What is it?’ Sam asked.

‘It is as I feared. The demon was not killed by an angel blade, nor an angel. Whoever killed her was at least partially human and they used a dagger containing a metal I’ve never seen,’ the angel explained. 

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. When their resident billion-year-old angel did not recognize something , that was very much not good.

‘Nephilim?’ Dean asked, remembering hearing about half-human/half-angel babies at some point.

‘Possibly, which is not good news. A loose Nephil could wreak havoc and piss Heaven off,’ Castiel said. 

‘There’s tracks,’ Sam pointed out.

‘Then let’s go find this son of a bitch and learn their secrets,’ Dean said, and then the three of them set off.

Miraculously, none of them got hit by a car, or whacked by flying crabs (had happened to Bobby one time when he was down here dealing with a siren), though Sam just about got trampled by a group of white-tailed deer (much to Dean’s amusement). Thankfully, they didn’t go all that far, maybe two miles, when they found their demon-killer. Dean kept one hand on his gun, as did Sam, as they approached, as they didn’t know jackshit about the demon-slayer.

The demon-slayer turned out to be a young man almost exactly Sam’s height, with messy blond hair, sitting with his back to a tree. A jagged scar sliced down his left eye and down to the edge of his jaw. His eyes were bright blue. He wore jeans and a shirt that was torn where it covered his chest; the shirt was also covered with what seemed to be the young man’s own blood. He looked exhausted and couldn’t have been much older than twenty five. He glanced up when he noticed the three of them approaching and he clambered back onto his feet, a bronze dagger in his left hand.

‘Who are you?’ He asked, his voice raspy with a mix of a Connecticut and New York accent. 

‘We’re not going to hurt you,’ Sam reassured him. ‘We just found the demon’s corpse.’

The young man looked guilty and tense.  His eyes shifted to Castiel and widened. He took a step back. 

‘Why are you here?’ He asked.

Castiel tilted his head. ‘To see what you are.’

‘Says the obviously-a-monster-guy,’ the blond snapped.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. This guy could tell Cas wasn’t human instantly. That was…impressive, and mildly terrifying.

‘You are not a Nephilim.’ Cas sounded confused. ‘But you’re not entirely human either.’

‘Of course I’m not fully human,’ the blond grumbled. ‘My father sucks. My heritage has fucked my life over.’ The blond sighed. ‘I guess judging by you knowing about the demon, you know about the monsters?’

‘It’s kind of our job to know about the monsters,’ Sam said, only semi-jokingly.

‘Okay. If you tell me what he is-’ here the blond pointed at Castiel- ‘I’ll tell you what I am. Then we can go our merry little ways.’

Well, this would be good. 

‘I am an angel of the Lord,’ Cas said finally after a few moments of silence.

The blond stared at him. ‘You’ve got to be shitting me.’

‘He’s deadly serious,’ Dean chimed in.

The blond’s eye twitched and he gripped his dagger so tightly his knuckles turned white. He glared up at the sky. ‘Are you happy now, God? HUH? After ruining my life, you throw a fucking angel at me?!’ The blond took a deep breath and looked back at the trio. ‘Sorry. It’s just…I’ve seen a lot of monsters. But before today, never demons or angels. It’s a bit much to wrap my head around.’

‘Not Christian?’ Dean asked sympathetically. ‘I’m not, either.’

The blond snorted. ‘Kind of hard to be, considering who my dad is.’

Sam glanced at Dean like: he’s a kid of a pagan god? Like those two that Christmas before you went to hell?

Dean gave him a responding look that was intended to say: lovely, lovely times, trying not to become human sacrifices; and yes, that seems about right.

The blonde tucked his bronze dagger into his jean pocket. ‘Right, this will sound weird because you all seem…very monotheistic, to put it nicely. But my father is Hermes, the Grecian god of travelers and lies and tricks.’

…oh.

Sam’s eyebrows nearly arched off his face. ‘Really?’

‘Unfortunately,’ the blond muttered. ‘Right. I’ll be on my way now. Thanks for shattering my worldview. Bye.’

Cas looked positively alarmed at that statement. ‘Wait, if you are a child of a pagan demigod, won’t monsters constantly be hounding you?’

Dean had never heard of such a thing, but the younger man hesitated. 

‘Yes,’ the blond admitted. ‘I have been dealing with this since I was thirteen, just like all of us do. I’ll be fine.’ But he looked tired.

All of us? Jesus, how many of ‘em were there?

‘You’re exhausted,’ Sam said reasonably. ‘We won’t hurt you, man. At least come back and rest at the motel with us.’

‘Fine,’ the blond grumbled, but he sounded secretly relieved. ‘My name’s Luke, by the way.’

‘Dean.’

‘Sam.’

‘Castiel.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ Luke said.

*

Somehow, Luke found himself in a black ‘67 Chevy Impala with two (admittedly heavily armed and intelligent) mortals and a motherfucking angel. He had figured that his life couldn't get any weirder, but it had. Very much so, between a demon and an angel and humans who actually knew about monsters.

‘What’s the dagger made of? I’ve never seen anything like it in my many years of existence,’ Castiel said from the passenger seat, turning bright blue eyes on Luke that seemed to be boring into his soul.

Luke pulled the dagger out of his pocket and twirled it around, almost nicking Sam (on purpose).

‘Easy with that thing,’ the other man said nervously.

‘Please, if I wanted you dead you’d be dead,’ Luke said. ‘Anyway, this is celestial bronze. It is mined from the depths of Mount Olympus itself. It is harmless to humans, but deadly to monsters…and the occasional demigod.’

It felt weird to be talking so openly about such a thing with people who were not demigods. But it was kind of nice, talking to someone who a) didn’t want his head on a pike and b) would actually understand despite not being a demigod. It was a nice change of pace.

‘Mount Olympus…the mountain of the gods?’ Sam asked, looking curious.

‘Yeah. The original one, not the one over the Empire State building.’

Dean nearly crashed the car. ‘Wait, Olympus is fucking where?’

Luke laughed so hard he almost fell into Sam’s lap. ‘Oh, yeah. The sixth hundredth floor- that’s Olympus. Can’t get there unless you have some degree of divine blood in your veins, as far as I know.’

‘What the hell,’ Dean muttered.  ‘That’s bizarre, even for us.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ Luke grumbled. 

‘It’s weird I have not heard of this before,’ Castiel remarked. ‘I am a seraph. I should know these things.’

‘Well, the gods aren’t keen on seeming weak. They probably figure that if they interact with your lot, they will seem less powerful,’ Luke mused.

Sam frowned. ‘So why did the demon know about you?’

‘She probably could smell me,’ Luke answered. ‘As I said earlier, all demigods attract monsters. It usually starts around thirteen. The more powerful your divine parent is, the more monsters that come after you.’

‘So why are you by yourself? Strength in numbers, right?’ Dean pointed out.

Luke gripped his dagger tightly and peered out the Impala’s window. ‘Let’s just say I had my own experience with possession recently, and it didn’t end well, so I’m on my own.’

Thankfully, the car fell silent for a while after that, allowing Luke time to relax a bit. Sam gave Luke a sympathetic glance, while Castiel winced.

‘What did the demon want from you?’ Sam asked, finally breaking the silence.

‘She wanted to take me down to hell,’ Luke recalled. ‘Something about how she had heard a lot about me and how the forces of hell could help me. She also called me several things- a chariot, a hanged man, a nine of wands, and the four of cups.’

‘Tarot symbols,’ Sam mused. ‘Willpower and determination for the chariot, sacrifice and perspective for the hanged man,  resilience and endurance for the nine of wands, and contemplation and reevaluation for the four of cups.’

‘What the heck does that mean?’ Dean asked, glancing into the backseat briefly. ‘It sounds like she read his future.’

‘That’s not impossible, actually, if she caught a glimpse of the thread that has my life. The Fates, three in number for the Triple Goddess- Maiden, Mother, Crone- weave the life-tales of every being on thread. But the Fates guard them closely and even a glimpse is far more than anyone else has managed, both in mythology and in more recent times,’ Luke said. ‘Unless, of course, you buy the rumors about Edgar Allen Poe.’

‘The poet who died in his forties?’ Sam asked. ‘Author of America’s first detective story?’

‘That’s the one. I heard from an old friend a rumor about him. Poe was a descendant of Melpomene, the muse of tragedy, and my friend was under the impression that Poe’s death was due to him glimpsing something he shouldn’t have. Such as, perhaps, a lifethread of someone who would die in the American Civil War- which would explain Poe’s insanity before he died. Glimpsing such a violent end would drive anyone off the rails. Either way, glimpsing such a thing is horrific. If the demon genuinely saw my life-thread, I am surprised she survived,’ Luke remarked.

‘Demons don’t work the same way humans do,’ Castiel noted. ‘They can survive where mortals die.’

Luke groaned. ‘Great. Just great.’

‘And why was she so determined to bring you down to hell?’ Sam wondered. ‘What is Crowley planning that requires a demigod in his army?’

‘Nothing good, that’s for sure,’ Dean muttered as they pulled into the parking lot of a random hotel. ‘Right, we’re here.’

‘You might need to change your shirt,’ Sam suggested to Luke, whose shirt was covered in blood. ‘They’ll probably question the amount of blood.’

Luke glanced down at himself. ‘Oh. Right. My bad.’

He pulled it off and turned it inside-out. He sighed when he found that the bloodstain was still very visible. Damnit. He turned to Sam, who was the most likely to be relatively close to Luke’s size considering they were roughly the same height.

‘Do you have a jacket or something I can borrow?’ He asked sheepishly. 

Sam handed him a brown leather jacket that fit him like a glove. Luke zipped it up and gave the older man a thankful smile. The quartet clambered out of the car and approached the hotel. When they stepped inside, it was decently nice- much better than where Luke had been able to stay in the past. By that, Luke meant at least the walls weren’t rotting and the floors weren’t crumbling and it wasn’t (hopefully) infested with anything. 

The walls were covered in a bright, hideous olive-green wallpaper that faintly smelled of mothballs. Dean strolled down a right hallway and Luke followed close behind Sam and Castiel. They arrived at room 777, which made Luke pause briefly. Seven was a sacred number to the Greeks, the number of Artemis and Apollo (born on the seventh hour of the seventh day of the seventh month)- it couldn’t be a coincidence. Coincidences never existed; there was always a reason behind what seemed coincidental.

Leave us alone, he prayed to the twin deities. Please.

The scar where he had stabbed himself earlier throbbed. He pressed his hand to it through the jacket as he stepped inside the hotel room. He swore he felt blood slip down his stomach and soak into his boxers, but he decided that was not necessary…until he stumbled and his legs basically gave out from beneath him, causing him to hit the ground. The others let out startled noises and Luke felt four hands gently pull him into a sitting position.

Castiel’s brilliant blue eyes bored into Luke’s own. ‘You are dizzy from blood loss. You are very hungry, as well. Did you not have any supplies besides your dagger?’

‘No,’ Luke admitted.

Castiel peeled Sam’s jacket off of Luke and eyed the bleeding wound. ‘The demon did not cause this,’ the angel stated. 

‘It’s fine,’ Luke insisted, pushing the angel’s hands away and trying to stand up on shaky legs.

He did not get very far and sunk back onto the ground, head spinning. The dizziness was back, even worse this time. He kept his mouth closed, though. He would not complain. He had done this to himself, and he deserved it.

Castiel simply arched an eyebrow. ‘Do I have permission to heal you?’

Dean and Sam watched the duo carefully. 

*

‘Fine,’ Luke conceded, and Castiel reached forward to the gaping wound in the young man’s flesh.

Castiel murmured words in Enochian and Luke gasped, blue eyes flying wide. Dean could sympathize. Being healed by angel mojo was a very odd feeling. When Cas stepped back, the wound was gone, though Luke’s chest and stomach were still crusted by dried and fresher blood. Luke poked where the wound had been with a curious expression.

‘That’s very handy,’ he remarked.

Cas smirked slightly, a pleased expression in his eyes. ‘Indeed. Are you well?’

Luke grabbed the edge of the nearest bed and pulled himself to his feet. ‘Much better. Thank you.’

‘So what’s the game plan now?’ Sam asked. ‘Two beds, four of us…’

‘I could sleep on the floor,’ Luke offered. ‘I’ve slept in worse places. One time in Kansas I had to sleep in a cornfield and I almost got run over by a tractor.’

‘Nah, you and Sammy can share,’ Dean smirked at his brother. ‘Cas can have this bed and I’ll sleep on the floor.’

Cas and Sam shared a glace and then Dean found himself tackled onto the bed by a very over-eager angel, six feet of him pressing him down into the sheets. Dean’s freckled face blushed furiously.

‘Cas!’ He protested half-heartedly, trying desperately to react to Castiel’s muscled and lean body on top of his own, pinning him down.

Cas grinned down at him. ‘As you humans say: gotcha.’

‘You cunning son of a bitch,’ Dean laughed admiringly and peered up at the angel with adoration in his eyes. 

‘I don’t have a mother,’ Castiel told him, head tilted in confusion, and Dean laughed again. 

‘Never mind, Cas. Never mind.’

God, Cas was so cute like this. He quickly squashed the thought down, hoping Cas hadn’t heard it. He had these thoughts or thoughts like them all the time, along with the accompanying feelings, after knowing Cas for a couple of years; he hoped Cas hadn’t found out yet. That would be an awkward conversation, even if there was the slightest chance it could lead to a happy and enjoyable outcome for both of them.

‘Good night, lovebirds,’  Luke called out. ‘Keep your fornicating quiet, please?’

Dean scowled at Sam, who had a massive grin on his face. ‘Fuck off.’

‘Never,’ his little brother smirked. 

‘Siblings,’ Luke muttered, even though they hadn’t mentioned that they were brothers to him. 

There was a loud thump and then the screech of something metal collapsing.

‘What the fuck,’ Sam said, sounding shocked.

Dean and Cas looked over, only to see a very surprised-looking Luke sitting on an extremely broken bed.

‘I don’t even weigh that much,’ Luke protested, and he poked the bed suspiciously. ‘It probably would have broken anyways.’

Sam buried his face in his palm. ‘Stupid damn bed.’

Dean buried his face in Cas’ neck. ‘Night, fuckers,’ he called, already half-asleep from exhaustion and from being wrapped in Cas’ warm arms. ‘Night, Cas.’

‘Good night, Dean,’ Castiel whispered against his ear, and Dean fell asleep in his grip.

However, they were rudely woken up not much later by Sam…and Luke. Singing, of all things. Not loud enough to get a noise complaint, but enough to wake Dean up. Cas seemed to have been awake the entire time, as per usual for him, though he hadn’t moved- much to Dean’s relief.

‘Ra-ra Rasputin,’ Sam smirked in the darkness from the edge of his and Luke’s broken bed. ‘Lover of the Russian queen.’

‘Был такой бабник, его убили,’ Luke added, splayed out on the ground like a starfish and throwing his dagger up in the air before catching it. 

‘Why the fuck are you singing Boney M in the middle of the night?’ Dean demanded.

‘It’s two in the morning, Dean,’ Castiel corrected.

‘Sorry, my bad. Why the fuck are you singing Boney M in the witching hours?’

Sam shrugged. ‘Couldn’t sleep. Got bored really fast.’ 

Luke made finger guns and pointed them at Dean. ‘We talked for hours but then Sam found out I can speak Russian, so here we are.’

‘In summary, they’re sleep deprived,’ Castiel remarked. ‘And Luke is still messed up from blood loss.’

‘Well, we were. Then we got coffee,’ Sam said. ‘Coffee is our secular savior.’

‘Amen,’ Luke said, and Dean couldn’t tell if was dead serious or deadpan.

‘Sonuvagun,’ Dean muttered sleepily. ‘You menaces.’

‘Ра-Ра-Распутин,’ Luke hummed. ‘Величайшая русская машина любви, Его жизнь была постыдна.’

‘He ruled the Russian land and never mind the czar,’ Sam hummed. ‘But the kasatschok he danced really wunderbar.’

‘Со всеми делами страны обращались к нему,’ Luke continued. ‘Но лучше всего у него получалось лапать девчонок.’

‘For the queen he was no wheeler-dealer, though she’d heard the things he’d done- ow!’ Sam yelped. ‘Cas, why?!’

Cas had mojo’d a pillow onto his face. Dean cackled.

‘Good one, Cas!’ The eldest Winchester crowed victoriously. 

Cas smiled at him and it made Dean’s heart flutter in his chest. ‘Thank you, Dean.’

Dean shifted so Cas was beside him instead of on top of him. ‘Of course, Cas.’

Sam buried his face dramatically in the pillow Cas had summoned. ‘Please shut up, lovebirds.’

‘Bitch.’

‘Jerk.’

Dean’s eyes fluttered shut not long after that and he fell asleep to the sound of Castiel’s heartbeat. When he woke up again, thankfully much later, Sam was asleep and curled into a ball on one half of the broken bed and Luke was still on the floor, though he seemed to be asleep as well. Dean sat up with a yawn.

‘Good morning, Dean,’ Cas greeted. 

The angel was sitting in a chair by the closest window, a faint smile upon his lips.

‘Did you sleep well?’ Cas asked.

‘Yeah, thank you,’ Dean smiled at him. ‘What happened to those two? Only a few hours ago they were caffeinated and sleep-deprived.’

‘I put them to sleep using my grace after you fall asleep,’ Castiel said. ‘You all needed the rest desperately.’

At that moment, Sam let out a startlingly loud snore, and startled himself awake.

‘What?’ Sam blinked blearily. ‘What in the world happened?’

‘Sorry, Sam,’ Cas said, sounding completely unapologetic. ‘Sleep is critical for human function.’

‘Okay…thanks, I guess,’ Sam said, sounding confused. ‘What time is it?’

‘Time for you to get a watch,’ Dean laughed.

Sam scowled at him. ‘Dude, that is so not funny.’

Cas tilted his head. ‘It appears to be half an hour past seven.’

Sam jumped to his feet. 

‘Calm down, Sammy,’ Dean said. ‘We’re not in a hurry.’

That woke Luke up. He went from fast asleep, laying down, to sitting up with his dagger pulled out of thin air and clutched tightly in his hands.

‘What the hell?’ The blond demigod demanded. 

When he saw it was just Sam, Dean, and Cas, the younger man relaxed somewhat and he put the dagger in his pocket. 

‘Can you keep the racket down? Some of us were trying to sleep,’ Luke said. 

*

Sam raised his hands defensively. ‘It’s all Dean’s fault.’

Dean climbed off his bed and pulled Sam into a headlock. ‘No, it isn’t.’

Luke snorted, reminded heavily of his siblings back in Cabin Eleven. They were always pranking each other and blaming each other for various things- such as, one memorable time, dying Luke’s hair a hideous dirty green color. Luke hadn’t been pleased. The memory shot a bittersweet pang through him, knowing that he’d never see his siblings again. He was alone, again, just like he’d been before he’d met Thalia and Annabeth on the streets.

And even if he somehow ran into someone he’d known, they wouldn’t be happy to see him. At best, they’d assume he was a lost spirit wandering the earth. At worst, they’d try to execute him for treason. As he watched Sam and Dean tussle, his heart ached, knowing that he would never experience the same mildly violent and teasing love ever again. He was an exile, shunned, kicked out of the family; left to wander the earth until he rotted away and was forgotten. 

Sam and Dean had been so very kind to him. Castiel as well. But they were family- if not by blood, forged by steel and gore. Luke was not a part of that. It would be selfish for him to come between that. 

Castiel gave him a sharp look, as if he could read Luke’s mind. Given that he was an honest to goodness angel of the Lord, he probably could. Eventually Dean and Sam drew apart, Sam looking annoyed.

‘So what’s the game plan?’ Sam asked.

Dean opened his mouth and just then the window exploded. The quartet dropped to the ground, shielding their faces from flying shards of broken glass. All of a sudden a massive, black furred dog, who closely resembled a completely black Keeshond, burst in and sunk its fangs into Luke’s leg. Luke roared and dropped his dagger as the hellhound- for surely that’s what it was- dragged him towards the broken window. Thankfully, the broken glass was not much of an annoyance- it seemed like the hellhound avoided all the glass, preferring to keep its victim mostly intact…

‘Fuck!’ He heard Dean say. ‘Sam, go! Get him!’

The hellhound growled and then drug Luke out the window. The two tumbled onto the ground and then the hellhound was snapping at him- clawing, biting, hissing. Luke howled in pain as blood splattered everywhere. Sam jumped out the window, holding Luke’s dagger in one hand.

‘Fuck off!’ Sam yelled as he charged.

The hellhound didn’t pay Sam any attention, much to its detriment, as Sam sunk the blade in between the hellhound’s shoulders. The beast let out a final cry and melted into shadows, which then dissipated. Luke sighed and slumped against the ground, weakness shivering in his veins from blood loss and pain. Sam knelt down by him, hazel eyes worried.

‘Jesus, are you alright?’ Sam asked, helping Luke into a sitting position. ‘Cas, get out here.’

Luke looked down. His leg looked torn to shreds, deep and large gashes spilling blood onto his skin. Nausea swirled in his stomach and he forced himself to look away.

‘What the hell was that?’ Dean asked, joining them outside with a bag slung over his shoulder.

Dean’s face had a dozen small scratches on them that had not been there five minutes ago yet seemed a few days old. Castiel followed him, blue eyes worried as he glanced down at Luke’s leg. 

‘Hellhound,’ Luke said breathily. ‘See, the monsters can smell me.’

‘Imposible. Our hellhounds are invisible, and only show up when it is time to collect from someone who has made a deal with a Crossroads demon,’ Dean said, and he sounded like he spoke from experience.

‘Well, these ones are from Tartarus, not your hell, so I suppose they act differently,’ Luke said, and he nearly screamed when Castiel pressed a hand against his bloodied leg.

Castiel frowned. ‘I am unable to heal this. This has not happened before.’

Luke made a noise not unlike a whimper. Sam pressed a soothing hand to his forehead. 

‘You’re lucky. I don’t think it pierced an artery,’ Sam said. ‘Let’s get him to the Impala, guys.’

‘Let me bandage this leg first,’ said Castiel, snapping his fingers and summoning bandages.

Luke clenched his hands into fists as Castiel gently wrapped Luke’s bloodied leg in bandages, fighting back the cries that threatened to escape from him. When the angel was done, he and Dean helped Luke back to his feet and the group limped back towards the Impala. 

‘I’ll go apologize for the mess and turn in the key,’ Sam said, and he was gone.

Luke slid into the backseat of the Impala with a grimace. Dean and Cas sat up front.

‘You okay back there?’ Dean asked. 

Luke managed a shaky smile. ‘Eh, I’ve had worse.’

Castiel sighed. ‘You are just like Dean. So stubborn.’

‘I wish,’ Luke muttered.

Dean was a good man. Luke…Luke wasn’t. He was selfish, cruel, easily trusting. Dean was righteous and kind, intelligent. Luke was alone. Dean wasn’t. Dean was loved. Luke wasn’t. 

Dean had green eyes. Luke had blue. It seemed that they were opposites, well and true.

Sam opened the car door and slid into the backseat next to Luke. ‘We’re good to go,’ he said, pulling on his seatbelt. 

Dean complied, and soon they were off like a herd of traumatized turtles. Wait, what does one call a group of turtles? A nest? A bale? A dole? A turn?

Sam handed Luke a water bottle. ‘You need to stay hydrated. It will help replenish your lost fluids and electrolytes.’

Luke nodded his thanks and accepted the bottle with shaky hands. Even now he was still a bit messed up, and he knew it was going to be a while before he was recovered. He pulled the lid off and drank carefully. Once he was finished, he placed the bottle between his thighs, as he didn’t see another place to put it.

‘I wonder why I was unable to heal you,’ Castiel mused. ‘I was able to heal you before.’

Luke shrugged. ‘Hellhounds, man. Wounds inflicted by them heal slowly.’

Dean shuddered and Castiel gave him a sympathetic look. 

‘Do you have anywhere to go?’ Sam asked softly. ‘Is anyone expecting you?’

‘No. I told you honestly before when I said that I was on my own,’ Luke said quietly, and gazed out the Impala’s window at the passing landscape. 

‘You’ll be in danger by yourself,’ Sam said.

‘I can deal with it myself,’ answered Luke.

‘With a fucked up leg, it’s only a matter of time. And we don’t know why hell wants you so bad,’ Dean remarked.

Sam leaned forward, hazel eyes soft and welcoming and entrancing. ‘So come with us. We have a bunker, a safe place. You’ll be safe there.’

A million feelings rushed over Luke like a tidal wave. He smiled genuinely. ‘Thank you, Sam. If it’s alright, I will.’

‘It’s fine, man,’ Dean said from the front seat. ‘Heaven knows, I’ve been where you are.’

Luke sincerely doubted that Dean had, but he kept that to himself and simply nodded. Suddenly tired, he leaned back and closed his eyes. And he let the darkness drown him over. Of course, he dreamt.

‘You may think that the Baudelaires ought to prevail and be tucked some place all safe and sound,’ sang a male voice in his ears.

He saw a younger Dean and Sam laughing as they drove the Impala down country lanes. He saw a much younger version of himself sitting next to Thalia around a campfire, the two of them laughing; forever frozen in time, frozen fifteen. 

‘Count Olaf captured and rotting in jail, his henchpeople nowhere around,’ the voice continued to sing.

He saw a flash of Kronos’ eyes and heard his screams as he was dissolved. He saw a white-eyed demon screaming as Castiel, eyes glowing blue, stood protectively over a blood-covered Dean and smited the demon.

‘But there’s no happy endings, not here and not now, this tale is all sorrows and woes,’ the singing continued.

He saw Dean, younger and bloodied, lying in a pine box. Sam and an old man stood over it, tears running down both of their faces. He saw Dean’s body, broken and bloodied, cradled in a younger Sam’s arms. He even saw himself, lying on the floor of Olympus, Annabeth’s dagger up to its hilt in his chest.

‘You dream that justice and peace win the day, but that’s not how the story goes,’ the male voice continued to sing.

Justice, Kronos seemed to whisper. The gods do not believe in justice. But I will bring you justice, son of my grand-son. I swear on my scythe. 

But Luke knew now that was nothing but lies. Kronos had only brought pain and misery.

‘You might think that two parents, both brave and both true, would live until a nice ripe old age. But I’m sad to say, I have bad news for you, the curtain rings down on the stage.’

He saw his mother, her eyes flashing green. He saw Hermes, sadness and pain in his eyes as he watched Luke’s fate. He saw a young woman with blonde hair and a white nightgown pinned to the ceiling, her stomach bloody and slashed; then he saw a dark haired man who reminded him of Dean collapsed on a hospital floor next to a bed that held Dean within.

‘Yes, there’s no happy endings, not here and not now, this tale is all sorrows and woes.’

Luke saw himself, gun to the mirror. 

You won’t kill me, Kronos said, his reflection in the mirror having golden eyes. It’ll kill you.

Oh, believe me, that’s just a bonus, Luke said, and he pulled the trigger. 

The bullet ricocheted and did not reach his brain. It bounced off the mirror and nailed Luke in the thigh, leaving a scar behind. He was so disappointed that this had failed that he fell to his knees and sobbed for release.

‘You might dream that justice and peace win the day, but that’s not how the story goes.’

He watched as Kronos in a dream pressed Luke down into the sheets, onto his stomach, and forced his legs apart. When he had taken what he had wanted, blood coated Luke’s thighs and the sheets of the bed, and Luke could only sob. Kronos did it again, too, again and again, each time leaving Luke’s heart feeling broken and his head feeling hollow.

‘I once loved a girl, and she thought well of me. We thought we’d be happy together. But I am now alone, as you can quite see, and she’s cold in her grave forever.’

Thalia smiled from the depths of his memories, her eyes sparkling. He saw himself sobbing, crying, curled against the pine tree that had replaced his best friend. He saw a blond woman peering at Sam with affection under neon lights.

‘There’s no happy endings, not here and not now, this tale is all sorrows and woes. You might dream that justice and peace win the day, but that’s not how the story goes.’

He heard Kronos whispering to him as he had done for so many years: no one cares for you, Castellan; no one will mourn. All because you were smart enough to spread your legs and let me in. You did the right thing, yet they all hate you…I am the only one who still loves you.

And dammit, at that point Luke had been so touch-starved that he’d believed him. He’d ignored the abuse, the tears, the scars, the pain. And he’d had nowhere to go, anyway.

He woke up with a silent scream twisting his lips.

*

It was around midnight when Luke stirred in the back seat, his closed water bottle on the floor. Sam had long since fallen asleep, his head practically on top of the younger man’s shoulders. Dean recognized the expression on Luke’s face; he’d seen it before on his own face (and on Sam’s). The poor kid had just woken up from a nightmare and wasn't screaming because…well, who knew? Brains were strange and Dean was definitely not a psychologist. 

‘Are you okay?’ Dean asked gently.

‘Fine,’ Luke responded curtly.

Dean winced mentally. It must have been a bad one, similar to Dean’s own nightmares about hell. Luke seemed solemn, as if he had been witnessing horrific things in his sleep (which he probably had been), but to his credit the kid did not show it on his face. Dean felt a pang in his chest at knowing that much like Sam and Dean, the younger man had spent his whole life fighting; a pawn on a chessboard, life meaningless to the ones above. Now this…this right here was why Dean had no faith, as he had been accused of in the past.

How could a benevolent God let child soldiers bleed and die in a war that was ultimately not even theirs? It was…frustrating and beyond cruel. 

‘Where are we going?’ Luke asked.

‘Lebanon, Kansas,’ Dean replied. ‘So it will be close to a twenty-one hour drive. We’re covering one thousand four hundred and twenty-nine miles, provided we have a stretch of good luck and don’t die…’

‘Oh, good, a road trip with a slight side of possible death,’ Cas said unexpectedly. ‘We haven’t had one of those in a while.’

Dean laughed. ‘Yeah, well, next time don’t accidentally mojo me into a cult, Cas!’

Luke leaned forward, a sudden gleam in his eyes. ‘He did what?’

‘It was an accident,’ Cas protested. ‘I did not mean to teleport you into the midst of a cult that was undergoing their rituals, Dean.’

Luke arched an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smirk appearing on his lips. ‘How do you accidentally teleport someone into a cult?’

‘In my defense, I was tired and worn down after a battle with some high level demons,’ Cas said. ‘So when I got back to the bunker, and Dean hugged me, my instincts flared-’

‘-and he mojo’d me into Kaktovik, Alaska, right where a cult called the Gatherers were planning for a sacrifice for their fertility goddess, Ishtar,’ Dean explained, cutting Castiel off.

‘Ishtar is the Mespotamian goddess of war and fertility,’ Cas chimed in. ‘But I doubt she was actually involved in this.’

Luke nodded sagely. ‘Right. Most gods prefer food sacrifices these days, not human ones. Like, per say, a packet of M&M’s, or barbecue brisket.’

‘Gods like M&M’s?’ Dean asked, confused.

He tried to picture that and nearly burst out laughing.

‘It’s not enough that they’re omnipotent and all-powerful, they have to feel appreciated,’ Luke sighed, rolling his eyes. ‘Go on with the story.’

‘So, here I was, middle of bumfuck nowhere, surrounded by like thirty folks in gold bird-masks and wearing necklaces with the star of Ishtar on them,’ Dean continued. ‘They drugged me and dragged me into their…temple-thing, got out this weird fertility symbol-’

Luke was twenty-five or so, but Dean did not have the balls to explain that the thing was a phallus-shaped stone object that the cult members had tried to... Dean bit back a shudder at the memory. Thank goodness Sam and Cas had burst in when they had. Stupid fertility cults. 

But he remembered distinctly Cas’ possessive face when he stumbled in and found Dean naked, tied to a table, and with the fertility object almost you-know-where. God, Dean swore lust had flashed in Cas’ eyes, followed by anger and possessiveness. Beside him, Dean could’ve sworn he saw a faint smirk on Cas’ lips.

‘-placed it on me and started preparing me for the sacrifice by stripping me and tying me down with rope,’ Dean said. 

‘Meanwhile, I had a sense of Dean's location, but it was vague, so Sam and I teleported up there,’ Castiel explained. ‘We got him out just fine, but I couldn’t teleport with two people, so we stole a car and the cultists chased us.’

‘Sam was driving,’ Dean bemoaned. ‘He almost killed us both.’

‘Dean was laying in the backseat and looking pretty,’ Castiel smirked.

Dean blushed. ‘Cas!’

Luke laughed. ‘That seems about right.’

Dean scowled (Cas called it a pout, but Dean did not pout). ‘Hey.’ 

‘Don’t worry, Dean, your honor is not at risk,’ Cas teased. ‘If it were, I would defend it, even from myself.’

Dean was reasonably sure his face was as red as pomegranate, his freckles standing out like their seeds. God, how could Cas say things like this and then five minutes later act like they were brothers in arms and nothing more? In his chest, Dean’s heart, scarred from hell and a childhood of violence, felt as light as a royal sunangel hummingbird in flight; as fluttery as moths drawn to a flame. Even though he knew he would fuck this all up somehow, he longed for it nonetheless…

‘My knight in shining armor,’ he managed to get out (somehow), his voice airy and breathless.

In the backseat, Luke made a noise of realization, and he smirked at Dean. Dean chose to ignore the implications of this. For the love of God, he wasn’t that obvious, was he?

Cas leaned in, his lips brushing Dean’s ear. ‘I don’t care,’ the angel rasped, his deep voice sending a shiver down Dean’s spine.

Dean’s heart skipped a few beats, his blush even stronger than before. ‘C-Cas, I’m driving here.’

Cas pulled back, blue eyes sparkling. ‘Oh, we have both waited so long. We can wait until our next stop, but no longer.’

Images flashed before Dean’s eyes that made his pants tighten and he barely bit back a whimper. ‘S-sure.’

Luke wolf-whistled abruptly, almost making Dean jump in his seat. 

‘Happy for you, but don’t do it in the car, ‘ the demigod warned.

‘Of course not!’ Dean told him. ‘I would never-’

He felt Cas’ eyes on him and swallowed nervously. ‘Um. We won’t do it when you’re in the car?’

Luke sat back, looking satisfied.

‘How’s your leg?’ Dean asked, eager to change the subject (even though he was happy it seemed that Cas reciprocated his feelings, this was getting a bit too heated with Luke and a sleeping Sammy in the car).

Luke lifted his bandaged leg off of the floor and studied it. He winced. ‘It seems fine. Functional at least. I don’t seem to be bleeding to death, which is a bonus.’

‘That’s good news, at least,’ Dean said.

*

Luke placed his foot carefully back on the floor. 

‘Yeah,’ he agreed quietly. ‘I guess.’

God, what he wouldn’t give for some ambrosia right now. That was the only thing that seemed to help with wounds inflicted by hellhounds from Tartarus- angel magic and mortal medicine did nothing. And damn it, these were his only pair of paints, ruined by blood, and it would be a bit awkward to ask Sam for a pair of jeans. But then he remembered the last few times he’d had ambrosia, and he bit back a gag. He’d gotten seriously injured several times during the years of the Second Titan War, and Kronos had always forced the divine food down Luke’s throat until the demigod had almost thrown it all up.

Memorably: after falling off the cliff in the Garden of the Hesperides, he broke his spine and cracked several ribs. Kronos summoned Oceanus, who whisked them back to the Princess Andromeda. There, Ethan Nakumura (the closest thing Luke had had to a friend during this ordeal) had been forced to hold Luke down (even though he had been unable to walk at the time, and thus unable to escape) and force-feed him the divine food so his body healed. Luke remembered whining around the divine food, silently pleading Ethan to end his misery. But no- he was still alive all these years later, and Ethan (poor Ethan, loyal Ethan) was dead.

This was unfair. Luke deserved to be bleeding out, surrounded by broken glass, as the hellhound chowed down. He should be dead, just like Silena and Charles Beckendorf and Michael Yew and Lee Fletcher and Ethan. Tears stung at his eyes and he forced himself to look out the window of the Impala. He should be rotting in Tartarus right now, or perhaps the Fields of Punishment. It was what he deserved.

The Impala hit a pothole in the road and Luke did not manage to fight back his whimper as the movement jostled his wounded leg. The pain soared and it felt like his leg was being ripped apart from the inside. He deserved it, of course, but it hurt like hell.

‘You don’t deserve it,’ Castiel said quietly.

Luke tore his gaze from the window and stared at Castiel in horror. ‘What?’

‘You don’t deserve the pain,’ the angel remarked. ‘I can hear your thoughts, can see your soul. You are not a bad man, Luke.’

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh no, no, no, no. This was bad. Very bad.

‘How can you say that?’ Luke whispered. ‘If you can do all that, you’ve seen what I’ve done. You’ve seen who I am.’

Castiel tilted his head. ‘And why would that be a bad thing? Sometimes it is hard to express in words and actions who you are.’

‘You’ve seen the blood on my hands, the monster I chose to be with-’ Luke began.

‘Did you choose him?’ Castiel asked, cutting him off.

‘Of course I did-’

‘You were only a child when Kronos first appeared,’ Castiel said softly. ‘Broken and grieving. He manipulated you, turned you into a weapon.’

Luke fought back nausea. ‘There’s blood on my hands,’ he whispered. ‘It’s all my fault.’

‘You trusted the wrong person,’ Castiel told him gently. ‘You were vulnerable and young. Kronos told you what you wanted to hear in order to get you to trust him.’ Cas paused. ‘And anyways, what he did to you repaid any harm you caused.’

Luke shuddered, tears burning his eyes. ‘I was his weapon. He used me to get what he wanted- violence, death, power.’

‘Do humans blame the guns used in homicides, or do humans blame the people who shoot them?’ Castiel asked. ‘They blame the shooter, not the weapon.’

‘And Luke,’ Dean piped in, unusually serious as he joined the conversation, ‘I get where you are. I do, really. When I was in hell, after thirty years, I cracked. I became a torturer down there for ten years. I brought so much pain and suffering to the other souls. When Castiel gripped me tight and raised me from perdition, I was haunted by it. I still am. But Castiel told me the same thing. You and I- we were broken over and over and over again. We were forced to do things we despise in order to survive. But now we’re far from those who weaponized us. We can be better- and we can be more than what we have done.’

Luke stared. Dean- kind, intelligent, badass- had gone to hell? And yet he was still so compassionate, still so nice?

‘And the fact you’re showing regret shows that you are within the possibility of redemption,’ Castiel added.

‘But-’ Luke tried to protest feebly.

Castiel gave him a stern yet empathetic look. ‘Luke. Above all, you have hurt yourself the most. Kronos would have killed those who died anyway, with or without you; that guilt you’re carrying, it’s going to consume you, along with the blame and self-loathing. You were equally Kronos’ victim as any of the dead, and you’re the only one who can get justice now; justice for you, justice for all of them. You have to live, Luke.’

Luke’s shoulders shook as tears poured down his face and he sobbed. It felt like a release- it felt like freedom. It was nowhere near forgiveness of himself, but God it felt good to get all these feelings out. His leg ached, but it seemed dulled, as if now that he had confronted his emotional pain his physical pain would be lesser.

Sam stirred. ‘Wha-’

His hazel eyes widened when he saw Luke, shaking and covered in tears. Sam sat up straight.

‘Woah, woah, woah, what happened?’ Sam asked.

Luke opened his mouth to answer but no noise came out. He curled in on himself and buried his face in his hands. 

‘We had a…discussion about trauma and self-blaming,’ Castiel said.

‘Oh,’ Sam said in realization. 

The next second Luke felt a comforting hand rubbing his shoulders. He melted into the touch, chasing the comfort and the heat of Sam’s flesh. It had been so long since someone had touched him like this, had touched him without the intention to harm. The last person to do so had been Ethan, poor Ethan, who was long since dead.

‘It’s okay,’ Sam soothed. ‘Let it all out.’

Luke sobbed louder, unused to the kindness these practical strangers were showing him. For so long his life had been nothing but pain- emotional, physical, mental, sexual. He’d almost forgotten what kindness was like. It felt like the watery sunlight first piercing through the clouds after a rainstorm: tentative, shaky, but comforting, and promising that something better was soon to come. God, it felt nice.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, sniffling and trying to pull himself together. ‘It must be so annoying listening to me cry in the…evening.’

The sun was going down now. It felt almost symbolic, as if it was showing that Luke was moving away from the pain and sorrow of his past and towards something better.

‘It’s okay. Worse things have happened back there, and worse bodily fluids spilled,’ Dean told him.

Luke laughed, but it came out sounding snotty. ‘Ew.’

‘That’s what I say,’ Sam said, the faintest smile on his face. 

Luke rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, feeling exhausted even though he had just woken up only like maybe thirty minutes ago. But his heart felt lighter than it had in years.

‘You okay?’ Sam asked softly.

‘I will be,’ Luke replied, actually believing it for the first time in a very long time.

‘That’s good,’ Sam said gently. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Tired,’ Luke mumbled.

‘Not surprised. You lost a lot of blood- those wounds avoided arteries, but they were deep,’ Sam said. He picked up Luke’s water bottle, which had fallen onto the floor at some point while Luke had been sleeping. ‘You should drink a little bit more, and maybe get some more rest.’

Luke took the water bottle from the older man carefully, unscrewed the lid, and sighed in relief as the cool water slipped down his abused throat. He screwed the lid back on tightly so it wouldn’t spill (God, Dean would kill him if he spilled water in the Impala) and placed it back on the floor.

‘We’re a few hours out from our first stop,’ Dean called from the front seat. ‘Just lay back and relax.’

Luke hated not doing anything, but with his leg fucked six ways to Sunday (and not in a fun way), him stuck in a car, and the tears still drying on his face, he knew it was probably the best idea. But even though he was tired, the idea of sleeping and facing those nightmares again had goosebumps prickling on his arms.

‘You don’t have to sleep,’ Sam told him. ‘We could just…talk. It might help calm you down.’

‘Okay,’ Luke agreed. ‘What are we talking about?’

‘I’d thought we’d start with just random trivia and then if we wanted we could talk about more personal things,’ Sam suggested.

Nervousness pricked in Luke’s heart but he forced it down. Castiel and Dean had not cast him out when they had learned what he had done. Surely Sam would do the same thing and not reject him.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That sounds fine.’

*

‘Ummm. Did you know, the phrase ‘bitten by a Winchester goose’ was used to refer to the contraction of syphilis, commonly in the sixteenth century; like our last name?’ Sam said after a moment or so of silence.

‘Dude, what the fuck,’ Dean remarked.

Sam gave him bitchface number one hundred and twelve. ‘Oh, shut up.’

Luke smirked. ‘Your last name is Winchester? Like the gun? That’s ironic.’

‘Don’t tell me about it,’ Dean muttered under his breath, remembering all the jokes.

Sam looked at Luke expectantly.

‘Oh,’ Luke said in realization. ‘Uhm. Julius Caesar was frequently called every woman’s man and every man’s woman because he was suspected to be at the bottom in a relationship with King Nicomedes of Bithynia.’

‘That’s very much true,’ Cas nodded.

Dean spluttered. ‘This is the fucking weirdest trivia game I’ve ever been around, and one time I played trivia with a ghost from the nineteen-sixties.’

‘Suck it, Dean,’ Sam grinned. ‘Anyways, did you know that Castiel’s name is frequently misspelled as Cassiel?’

Cas pouted in the passenger seat. ‘They gave me another s. I don’t need nor have another s. I have a t. Humans.’

Luke snorted. ‘Awwwww. At least it’s only off by one letter, though. Could be worse.’

Cas shuddered, as if that would be one of the worst things he could imagine. Dean glanced at him affectionately, then returned his attention to the road.

Sam patted Luke on the shoulder. ‘Your turn.’

Luke clearly mused over what to say for a few seconds. Finally, he decided on a weird or personal fact. 

Luke sighed. ‘Okay, personal time. I figure I owe you guys that after everything you’ve done for me, and everything you could have done but didn’t. Back before Kronos, back before my life became even more of a living hell, I was trained by Chiron,’ Luke said.

‘The Chiron?’ Sam asked incredulously. ‘Didn’t he die in the myths?’

‘The centaur?’ Dean asked, still blurry on his Greek mythology.

‘Things tend not to stay dead, which is why children shouldn’t play with dead things,’ Luke explained. ‘And yes, the centaur, not the car. Right. Samwise, your turn.’

Miraculously, Sam did not bitch about the nickname. 

‘I went to Stanford for a while,’ the youngest Winchester in the car said.

Luke’s eyebrows raised. ‘Really?’

‘Tried to escape the life and it dragged me back in,’ Sam sighed, his eyes dark.

Even still, he missed Jessica- which was normal, yet heartwrenching. 

‘You sound like a member of the mafia,’ Luke said softly. ‘And I’m sorry. In the end, normalcy is the one thing people like us are denied constantly.’

Dean felt guilt bubble up inside him. He had felt guilty for years about dragging Sam into the hunt for Dad. John had died anyway, and maybe if Sam hadn’t left Jessica would still be alive and Sam would be a happy, wealthy lawyer instead of a scarred hunter suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Cas placed his hand reassuringly on Dean’s shoulder, his blue eyes boring into Dean’s green eyes, reassuring and comforting all at the same time. Dean smiled and then refocused on the road.

Exhaustion bubbled up. He had been driving for hours without a wink of sleep or even a single drop of coffee. He forced it down, but he knew it would return with a vengeance sooner or later.

‘Oh,’ Cas said softly. ‘There’s the exit for our stop, coming up on our left.’

‘So soon?’ Dean asked skeptically. ‘I thought it was supposed to be a couple more hours until we stopped.’

‘You’re very tired,’ Castiel pointed out.

‘I can take over driving when we pull over,’ Sam offered.

Dean tried not to think about what Cas had promised to do when they got to their first stop. Cas shook his head.

‘You’re too tired,’ the angel said. 

Dean tried not to feel disappointed about that and failed miserably. He reminded himself that he had waited so long for Cas to love him back that he could wait a few more hours. God, he was like a girl pining over her boyfriend. Ugh. Castiel gave him a reassuring smile, as if he was telling Dean that everything would be okay.

‘Turn now,’ Castiel instructed, and Dean complied, driving down a little further until he spotted a gas station.

It seemed pretty much abandoned so he just pulled and stopped the car randomly, placing it into park before stumbling out and heading around to the backseat. Sam opened his door and clambered out. Dean slid into the backseat next to Luke, and Sam took Dean’s spot in the driver’s seat. Sam took the Impala out of park and carefully pulled back out onto the road, performing a u-turn so they were facing the way they had originally come down. Soon they were back on the road, heading back to Kansas, and Dean relaxed.

‘Close your eyes, Dean,’ Cas said. ‘We’re safe. We’re fine.’

Dean complied and soon found himself slipping into the darkness with the sound of the Impala’s rumbling engine in his ears and the quiet voices of Sam and Luke (now carrying on the game they had been playing earlier). He was safe. He was home. Surprisingly, he did not dream. His sleep was as dark and restful as it rarely had ever been, and it was nice not to experience violent nightmares for once in his life.

When he woke up, the pale light of predawn was streaming through the Impala’s windows. Cas was currently driving with Sam passed out in the front passenger seat, and Luke too was asleep- though Dean saw something concerning.

‘Cas, stop the car,’ he told the angel.

‘Why? What is wrong?’ Castiel asked, but he complied.

‘Luke’s leg is bleeding through the bandages,’ Dean said with alarm, and he quickly unfastened his seatbelt as Cas pulled over to the side of the road.

Castiel cursed under his breath. ‘We stopped for some gas a few hours ago. Luke insisted on coming with us.’

‘Looks like the movement reopened some of the wounds a bit,’ Dean noted, and he climbed over so he was practically on top of Luke.

Carefully, he pressed down on what seemed to be the most major source of bleeding on Luke’s leg through the bandages with one hand. The other hand gripped Luke’s shoulder tightly- enough so the younger man could feel it, but not enough for it to hurt- and Dean shook Luke awake.

Luke groaned as he stirred, pale blue eyes glazed with sleep. ‘Hm?’

‘You need to stay awake,’ Dean instructed him. ‘How long have you been bleeding?’

Luke sighed. ‘It started when I went to the bathroom and saw some droplets of blood on my sock.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me or Sam?’ Cas asked sternly.

‘I thought it was some cut on my ankle we hadn’t seen yet,’ Luke admitted. ‘And honestly, it’s been engrained so much in my mind not to show weakness- because I have to be the strong and sturdy one, the calm rock that doesn’t flinch when the sea comes crashing down upon me– that I might’ve known subconsciously and just not told any of you.’

Dean sighed. Unfortunately, he could understand that. ‘You had siblings?’

‘Half-siblings,’ Luke corrected. ‘The gods aren’t exactly…monogamous.’

Dean thought about Adam and winced. Luke slumped against the chair.

‘Cas, get back here,’ Dean barked. ‘And you, stay awake.’

Cas complied and teleported into the backseat, a whole roll of bandages in his hands now. 

‘Keep him awake and distracted,’ the seraph instructed Dean.

Dean moved out of the way, letting go of Luke’s leg. He sat back next to the demigod and let Cas do his thing. But he too had a job to do.

‘Eyes on me,’ he told Luke gently.

Luke met his eyes, pale blue aquamarines meeting viridian emeralds. 

‘How are you feeling?’ Dean asked softly.

‘Eh, this is better than the average Tuesday in the last few years for me,’ Luke sighed. ‘Out of a scale of ow to holy fucking shit I’m gonna die in agony and it feels like I’m being tortured by a fucking god again, I think we’re somewhere around ow I stubbed my toe.’

Dean couldn’t bite back a snort. ‘That bad, eh?’

‘No worse than I’ve had before,’ was Luke’s answer.

*

Castiel pulled away, Luke’s leg freshly bandaged. ‘Good as new,’ the angel declared. He gave Luke a stern look. ‘Next time, tell us. Injuries are human nature; they’re not a personal failure or weakness.’

Luke nodded. ‘Okay.’

At some point during all of this, Sam had woken up, and he was peering back into the backseat with confusion.

‘What in the world happened?’ He asked, and then he saw Luke’s freshly bandaged leg plus Castiel and Dean’s slightly bloody hands. ‘Oh my God!’

‘Slight mishap,’ Luke answered, feeling bad about worrying them all and getting blood on the Impala.

‘Only you and Dean would call nearly bleeding out a mishap,’ Castiel said dryly.

‘Everything’s fine now, Sam,’ Dean told his brother in a reassuring tone.

The angel’s eyes briefly glowed blue, and then all the blood on the floor and the hands of Dean and Cas (Deancas? Destiel? Casean?) vanished. Luke slumped back against the seat, relieved and cold all at the same time. 

‘That’s the blood loss,’ Castiel told him, reading his mind.

‘I know,’ Luke mumbled.

Please. He had almost bled out enough times to know what it felt like. Honestly, it was pretty peaceful. Chilly and tiring, but not really painful. Stabbing himself, however, had hurt like a bitch, and attempted suicide certainly wasn’t relaxing.

‘Well, hopefully this will not happen again,’ Castiel said. ‘Though we should have given you stitches…’

‘With what supplies?’ Dean arched an eyebrow. ‘All of our medical stuff got stolen before we got to Virginia Beach, remember?’

Castiel snapped his fingers and Luke yelped when he suddenly felt thread dig into his leg, pulling his skin taught. His nerves flared in protest for a few seconds and then calmed down.

‘Yes, I remember. There. Now it won’t happen again,’ Castiel said confidently.

‘Did you just mojo stitches into his leg?’ Dean asked incredulously.

Castiel nodded. ‘Sorry, Luke. I expect that was painful.’

Luke shrugged and snuggled closer against the seat, instinctively craving warmth. Dean somehow knew this and wrapped an arm around Luke’s waist, gently pulling the younger man against him. Luke lay his head on Dean’s shoulder thankfully.

Sam crawled into the driver’s seat again. ‘Okay, let’s get back on the road.’

‘Turn on some music, bitch!’ Dean called.

‘Fine, jerk. Cas, you coming?’ Sam answered.

Castiel vanished and reappeared in the passenger seat where Sam had been sitting only a few moments ago.

‘Gladly,’ the angel answered, and he turned the radio on as Sam started driving.

Luke relaxed further, allowing the lyrics of the song to wash over him.

‘The air’s electric, I feel eccentric,’ a masculine voice sang, to the mournful tune of a violin and piano. ‘And it’s like the whole world is holding me down.’

Luke could sympathize with that. The only good things in his life right now were Sam, Dean, and Castiel; and they were bound to leave (or die). Everybody did. It was just a fact. All of his mental and physical scars ached, reminders of all the pain he had inflicted (and all the pain that had been inflicted upon him).

‘For so long, I struggled all alone, being the pawn of someone playing God,’ the singer continued. ‘Chin up, my boy, it’s sunrise; grip the sword tight and the gun even tighter.’

Luke glanced out the window at the passing countryside and wondered if he counted as a child soldier. He’d known how to fight, how to injure, before he could drink alcohol; instead of learning chemistry and statistics and whatever high-school kids did, his teenage years had been a blur of destroyed faith and salted wounds and knives in his hands.

‘There’s a gun in my hand, there’s cyanide on my lips,’ the song continued. ‘And baby, death’s so hypnotizing it’s addicting.’

Luke hadn’t wanted to die. Not really. But he had seen a chance to end the pain, to recompense for his sins, and he had leapt at the opportunity. Unfortunately, that had meant sticking a dagger in himself…but hey, at least Kronos was gone. He couldn’t lie, kill, or abuse ever again. 

Damn, this song was bringing back memories. 

‘There’s a gun in my hand, there’s a gun in my hand now, baby it’s almost done,’ the song went on. ‘Baby, I’m almost gone. My childhood was given to an endless quest of violence and a search for rest. I am the eldest, everything weighs on me, it feels like I will never be free.’

Dean tensed. Perhaps this song was bringing back memories for him, too. But Castiel didn’t turn it off, so Luke figured neither of them were having post-traumatic stress flashbacks. Which was a good thing (even though Luke definitely deserved- he squashed the thought).

‘The only place I will find a hallowed shelter will be six feet under, if someone does not drag me out.’

‘That’s not true,’ Dean grumbled. ‘I had to dig myself out of my grave, and that was not peaceful, thank you Mr. Wannabe Britney Spears. And besides, Cas totally saved my ass.’

Honestly, Luke didn’t know how to approach that, so he left that mildly concerning sentence alone. To be fair, Dean had told him earlier that he had gone to hell but was very much alive now, so he must have been revived somehow. Luke just hadn’t realized that it had gone that far.

‘There’s a gun in my hand, there’s cyanide on my lips, and baby, death’s so hypnotizing it’s addicting,’ the song continued.

‘Death is not sexy,’  Dean muttered.

Luke, having been to the Underworld, agreed vehemently. He nodded, not moving his head from Dean’s shoulder (the contact was too nice to sacrifice, thank you very much).

‘There’s a gun in my hand, there’s a gun in my hand now,’ the song went on. ‘Baby it’s almost done, I’m almost gone…maybe I’m already gone.’

Luke was a hollow shell of his old self, he knew that. In a way, Kronos had won. Because the Luke Castellan Luke had been all of those years ago was dead, ripped apart and buried after Kronos snacked on his heart like it was a feast of ambrosia. What he was now…well, he’d have to see.

‘This is a precipice, I’m already in the abyss; trapped in the trench at the Somme and we all know that we’re already gone.  I have nothing left to give, I have no reason left to live. Just bury me inside, I have nothing left to hide. I was a soldier in a war I was never ready for, and now I am a casualty on this bloody moor.’

Luke felt the singer’s pain. He had given up everything, had lost it all, and had no one to go home to. Surely Sam and Dean and Cas- no, Castiel, Luke hadn’t earned that nickname- would get bored of him quickly, and then he’d be alone again, as he always was. He planned to at least visit Ukraine before he finished what he had started that day on Olympus with his dagger- he wanted to visit his mother’s family. The song changed to another one, matching Luke’s mood switch from thoughtful to borderline depressed.

‘In this war there is quiet,’ a feminine voice said softly, the twinkling sound of a harp being played in the background. ‘And the soldiers don’t know how to feel.’

Luke didn’t either. He was alive. Kronos was gone. Camp Half-Blood was spared. He’d even found some new (most likely temporary) friends who seemed convinced that he was not a horrible, atrocious human being. They had even helped him out and kept him alive. 

But the sorrow and pain were so deeply rooted in his soul that he knew it would take a hell of a long time to rip out from the roots, if even possible. And yes, this did remind Luke of soldiers coming home from war; they felt out of their depth, caught off guard by peacetime, confronted with their demons. Luke was facing something awfully similar.

‘The spar seems so far and it seems so silent as they are forced to kneel,’ the singer continued. ‘It seems so strange, this unexpected kindness, this calm in the storm.’

Much like the kindness of Castiel and the Winchesters. They had plucked Luke from the tumultuous waves of the aftermath of Kronos’ defeat, had bandaged him up, had called him a good man, and now were taking him to their home. Luke was tense,  braced for it to end, this foreign sensation- the mortifying ordeal of being known- and yet it felt so pleasant he wished it wouldn’t end. He knew it would end- nothing good ever lasted around him- but God, he didn’t want it to. When was the last time someone had seen him broken and crying and had given him comfort? When was the last time someone had seen him bleeding and helped him out of a genuine concern?

Just like everything good, the answer was that the last person to do so was Ethan Nakumara. Dead, while Luke was not. He tried to push the thoughts down, knowing Castiel was listening, but his brain was just as stubborn and guilty as the rest of him (though Castiel and Dean’s assurances earlier about him being a good man had helped). 

‘It’s such a change, it’s worth more than diamonds,’ the song continued. ‘But everyone is so worn.’

Gods, Luke felt that deep in his soul. 

‘Battle has raged; now the hum of bullets are their lullabies, nightmares are their realities, and they feel so caged- knowing that not everyone dies, and that there are no guarantees. It seems so strange, this unexpected kindness, this calm in the storm. There seems to be nothing but change, are they surrounded by sirens? Because battle was their norm,’ the song said.

*

Thankfully, Sam turned the depressing as fuck music off. Dean glanced at Luke, who had his head on Dean’s shoulder and was practically curled up next to him (sort of like a cat, or perhaps a very affectionate lizard). The poor kid’s eyes were hollow, as if he were remembering something he didn’t want to. Dean remembered his own flashbacks of hell and his plethora of other nightmares and gently rubbed the upper part of Luke’s tense back, near his shoulders, to help him relax. There wasn’t much else he could do- this sort of thing was primarily the sufferer’s fight to fight, but he could be support for the demigod.

‘You alright?’ Dean whispered.

Luke made a noncommittal noise, as if saying in one breath that ‘my life has been so shit that me feeling like crap is normal, so how do I answer that’. Dean wondered why on earth this poor kid had to have such a terrible life (he reminded Dean of himself). Was it that any involvement or association with the supernatural, willing or not, doomed a person to a living hell?

‘I can’t fix myself,’ Luke whispered. ‘Not after so long of hating myself. Not after hurting everyone I loved. The guilt is ingrained too deep.’

Dean listened silently, knowing the kid needed to get this off of his chest if he was to have any chance of fighting his mental demons.

‘I have too much blood on my hands for it to be that easy,’ Luke continued, still whispering so Sam wouldn’t hear (the only semblance of privacy one could get in a car). ‘But maybe I can work toward redemption.’

‘How many people do you feel like you got killed?’ Dean asked, a little bit bluntly.

Luke paused as if he were counting the names.

‘Seven,’ he mumbled. ‘Ish.’

He mumbled something under his breath that vaguely sounded like a list of names: Thalia, Silena, Charles, Alcyone, Corvin, Michael, Lee.

‘Then you can save seven people,’ Dean said firmly. ‘And that will be your penance.’

‘I hurt so many more people though,’ Luke whispered.

‘So have I, kid. So have I. All we can do is acknowledge it and be better in the future,’ Dean said.

Luke nodded against Dean’s shoulder,  still looking a bit unsure. But Dean knew this was going to be as good as it got with the kid. He knew all too well how hard it was to get rid of the guilt, of the self-loathing, of the blame, and you never really did; it just got better. Just like with grief. And God, Dean had struggled with this so many times in his lifetime as well it almost felt like normalcy. 

But it wasn’t. It very much wasn’t. And all they could do was try to hold on. Just at that moment, they passed a sign that said ‘Welcome to Kansas’. Dean smiled. 

‘Home sweet home,’ he said, mostly to himself. ‘Or, well, the closest thing to it.’

‘Almost there,’ Sam said from the front seat.  ‘Not much longer now.’

‘Good,’ Luke said. 

Dean frowned as a thought occurred to him. ‘Hey, will we even be able to get Luke through the warding? He’s not fully human. Wouldn’t the wards sense that and try to kick him out?’

‘Fuck,’ Sam muttered under his breath.

‘I can stay in a nearby hotel,’ Luke offered. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Dude, you almost bled to death and didn’t notice,’ Dean pointed out. ‘And with all the monsters after you, leaving you alone and unguarded is a very dumb idea.’

‘We are not doing that,’ Cas agreed. ‘We will have to do some careful edits to the wards in order to allow him to enter.’

Sam sighed. ‘Great.’

‘We’ll find a way,’ Dean reassured them all, but he was a little doubtful. 

Luke looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. Dean was grateful, and a bit hopeful. Perhaps this was a good sign for the future of the younger man’s mental health. To be honest, Dean wasn’t looking forward to digging through a bazillion books in the bunker’s library, but he was willing to do it to help the other man out.

‘You could stay in the Impala overnight while we do research,’ Cas suggested. ‘We’ll keep the car warded from demons so none of them can kidnap you and take you to hell, and you’ll be warm. We’ll have to leave the Impala outside of the Bunker, but it might work.’

‘That seems like a decent idea,’ Sam agreed. ‘Luke, what do you think?

‘I am grateful for anything,’ the blond demigod answered. 

‘I think this sounds like our best shot,’ Dean agreed. ‘But we’ll bring you food and stuff, don’t worry.’

Luke grinned at him. ‘Well, I wasn’t expecting you to violate the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Dean. But, I’ll be fine.’

‘A hellhound used your leg as a chew toy,’ Dean noted. ‘You need to be comfortable in order to recover, man. You’re not alone, so let us help you.’

Luke bit his lip. ‘Okay.’

Dean felt relieved. ‘You’ll be okay.’

Luke closed his eyes and snuggled closer to Dean without responding. Given all that had happened in the last two days, it was no surprise the kid was tired; on top of all the physical pain was also the deep conversations about Luke’s mental health, the discovery that Christian mythological figures and places actually existed, and a road trip with three borderline strangers into the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Honestly, Dean was kind of surprised the kid hadn’t tried to kill them; he remembered his twenties as being lonely, angry, and lusty. But then again, Luke was exhausted, as were all of them, and the sheer novelty of finding non-demigods who knew about monsters probably made him trust them a little bit more than he would ordinarily have done. God, it had only been a few days and yet Dean felt so fucking attached to this kid already; he prayed that nothing would happen to him because of his association with the Winchesters.

But unfortunately, all of the sudden, the road exploded, sending the Impala careening off the road. The last thing Dean remembered was sudden, flaring pain, and then darkness. When he came to, everything ached. It seemed he had broken a few ribs. Groaning, he pulled himself out of the wreckage of his poor Baby, desperate to find the others- and he found them all right. Sam and Cas were on their knees, trapped in some sort of circle on the ground. In front of them was none other than motherfucking Crowley, King of hell.

Crowley turned and grinned at Dean. ‘Oh, there’s the sleeping beauty! I was wondering when you were going to wake up so I could start the show.’

Behind the King of hell stood what was evidently a demon possessing some poor soul, if the black eyes were anything to go by. That demon had Luke’s prone, bloodied body slung over his shoulder, as if the demigod were merely a sack of potatoes and not a six foot four son of a Greek god.

Dean hurried closer, scowling at Crowley. ‘You destroy my car, tie up my brother and my angel, and now you’re kidnapping my friend? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

Crowley’s eyes twinkled. ‘You know what’s so special about him, Squirrel? No demigod has yet to go to hell, or Heaven. They all go to their pagan afterlives. And demigods…well, they’re close to Nephilim in ranks of power, sometimes even more so.’

Dean felt sick. ‘You want to use his power for your army. You think he could be useful to you.’

Crowley cackled. ‘Oh, Squirrel. So naive. I already know that he would be useful to me. This guy…well, he’s one hell of a fighter. Best swordsman in what, three hundred years? And oh, you should hear the stories I’ve heard about him, Squirrel. Luke Castellan, the Titan-Killer, the man who dared to defy the gods, the slayer of Kronos…he’s a big deal, Squirrel. Almost as much as you were, Righteous Man. He’s heavily in demand. You’re lucky I got to him first, and not someone like Ah Puch- Xibalba and the other pagan hells are almost worse than our own hell.’

‘Let him go,’ Dean demanded.

‘Sorry,’ Crowley grinned, and he snapped his fingers and everything went dark.

*

When Luke woke up, everything ached, his leg and head most of all. The last thing he remembered was a giant blast and then the screech of metal. He winced. Had it been a regular car crash? No, not likely; Dean loved the Impala, and Luke figured he would have been pissed if Sam had crashed. Not to mention, Sam had probably driven that car hundreds if not thousands of times- he knew it almost as well as Dean did; an accident was not very likely.

‘You’re perceptive.’

Luke’s eyes flew open and he found himself kneeling, his wrists bound above him in iron shackles and tied to the wall. The room he was in was spacious, almost gorgeous, with stunning ebony floors and white marble ceilings. However, the windows showed a glimpse of reality: rivers of blood and lava. Screams echoed throughout, haunting and piercing right down to his soul. In front of him stood a short, smirking man in a suit with short dark hair and piercing eyes.

‘Where am I? Where are the others?’ Luke demanded.

‘Don’t fret. Squirrel, Moose, and Feathers will be fine,’ the suited man said. ‘It’s you I’m more interested in.’

Luke’s stomach twisted nervously, remembering the demon from two days ago that had hinted that someone important had wanted him in hell. Was this Lucifer, the Morningstar, the fallen angel, Satan himself?

The man sighed. ‘Everyone always assumes that. No, I am Crowley, former King of the Crossroads and current King of hell. It’s a pleasure, Luke Castellan, son of Hermes.’

‘What do you want from me?’ Luke asked, forcing down the instinctive fear that was anyone’s reaction to finding out the King of hell knew their name and heritage.

‘Oh, I want everything darling,’ the man purred. ‘But I feel like you need a little breaking-in first…’

Okay, that was ominous and unnecessarily dramatic. Were all the demons like this? Like, seriously.

‘Just the good ones,’ Crowley said, seemingly having had read his mind, and he had the audacity to wink. ‘Just the good ones.’

Luke desperately tried to think about what a demon- the actual king of Christian hell- would want from the bastard child of a pagan god. He couldn’t think of anything, but then he thought of the crossroads. For Hecate, the crossroads represented choices. But in Christian lore, if he remembered correctly…Faust sold his soul at a crossroads, to the devil no less. Crossroads were where deals were struck and bargains made, almost always with a demonic force.

‘Do you want my soul?’ Luke asked calmly. 

Crowley moved closer, eyes flashing. ‘Sweetheart, I already have your soul. I want your skills.’

Oh, great. This guy wanted Luke to be his little dress-up toy soldier. Just like the gods had wanted him to be.

‘I don’t think so,’ Luke said.

‘You don’t have a choice,’ Crowley told him. ‘Pain? Or freedom?’

Sorry, no. He’d trusted one too many devils lately. 

‘Bring on the pain, fuck-face,’ Luke smirked. ‘I was tortured by a Titan in every way known to an immortal god. You can’t do jackshit to me that will be any different, and I know how to handle that.’

‘We’ll see,’ Crowley said. ‘Eventually, you’ll break. They all do.’

The demon whistled and a door was knocked open by an invisible force that sounded heavily like a hellhound. Luke remembered Dean saying that their versions of hellhounds were invisible, and he grimaced. Great.

‘Oh, Juliet, we’re going to have so much fun,’ Crowley grinned, and Luke felt fangs dig into his legs.

He roared in pain as the invisible hell beast chowed down on his one good leg as if it were a delicious looking steak. Crowley smirked as he watched, taking glee in watching the gore. Luke glanced down, head spinning, and found that half of his left leg was gone- leaving a bloody pattern on the floor. He was used to gore and violence, but this was a whole different level.

‘Don’t worry,’ Crowley cooed. ‘It’ll grow back. Only for you to suffer some more, of course.’

Sure enough, it did, only moments later. But that was followed by the hellhound, Juliet it seemed, clawing up his stomach and chest and making him resemble a victim of Edward Scissorhands with all the bloody gashes. The pain was almost as bad as losing his leg had been, but now Luke fought to keep his cool, not wanting to give Crowley any satisfaction. He felt a tinge of regret for getting Sam’s jacket ripped to shreds, but he doubted he’d be able to get out of here to do anything about it.

The hellhound whined, annoyed that Luke was not reacting at all, and bit down on his arm. Luke let out a muffled grunt and simply glared up at Crowley as the blood trickled down his limb. Luke arched an eyebrow as if silently daring Crowley to do better.  Crowley hummed and then snapped his fingers, which teleported Luke out of the nice room and into something more akin to a torture chamber. Luke found himself lying on a table, with his right foot stuck in a boot that was screwed to metal plates, and one hand tied to the table.

Crowley appeared, looking happy. ‘They call this the Spanish Boot. Want to see what it can do?’

Luke flipped the demon off with his free hand. 

Crowley sighed. ‘Well, if you come to the realization that this is too much and you wish to accept what I have planned for you, say abiuro.’

I repent. Luke snorted. Ironic for a demon. But then Crowley turned the thing on, and it started breaking the bones in his foot. It was incredibly painful and against his will tears sprang to Luke’s eyes.

He bit down on his lip to prevent himself from screaming so hard that he drew blood. The pain grew worse and worse with every passing moment, with each bone that was broken, and he felt dangerously close to passing out. Strange how he could handle being mauled by a hellhound repeatedly yet not a very human medieval torture device. 

‘Had enough yet?’ Crowley asked.

‘Fuck. Off,’ Luke snapped breathlessly. 

‘If you insist,’ shrugged Crowley, and the pain went on.

Eventually, it was too much, and Luke’s eyes slumped back into his skull and he went limp in blissful darkness. Unfortunately, Crowley was not content with what he had done so far nor with Luke’s unconsciousness, and Luke was dragged violently back to consciousness. Thankfully, though, his location hadn’t changed, which eased at least one very specific worry.

‘You can’t escape me that easily,’ Crowley grinned.

The pain resumed and Luke fought back a whimper. Eventually the boot ran out of bones to break on his foot and Crowley switched it to the other one, starting the process all over again. Luke closed his eyes and stretched out his mind. For once in his life, the nonbeliever was praying, albeit subconsciously. Thump, thump, thump went his heart; Castiel, Castiel, Castiel chanted his brain. 

Suddenly, something slammed against his face, leaving his cheek burning. It felt like a hand.

Crowley glared at him. ‘No, no. No praying to Feathers. He’d spoil the fun.’

Luke grimaced, his jaw still stinging.

‘Now, where were we?’ Crowley mused. ‘Ah, right. So you resisted the Spanish Boot. What else can I do…’

Luke sighed, not looking forward to this at all. He wondered how Dean, Sam, and Castiel were doing. Hopefully they were alright after the Impala basically fucking exploded. They had been so kind to him, nice in a way that no one had been since Ethan. They had seemed to genuinely care for him, and seemed to be genuinely good people- hopefully Crowley’s hench demons would leave them alone. 

The world needed more men (and angels?) like them. Luke was startled out of his thoughts by Crowley snapping his fingers and forcing the boot to vanish. Crowley snapped his fingers again and every one of Luke’s formerly broken bones popped painfully as the breaks were healed by demonic magic.

‘Time for round three,’ Crowley said cheerfully.

You wanted this, Luke told himself. You wanted to be tortured for your crimes. But this, this was completely different- he wasn’t being punished for his sins. No, he was being tortured so he would be convinced that working for hell would be better than lying broken and bloodied at the whim of the King of hell. 

‘Oh, no. I’m not going to hurt you physically. It is obvious to me that you believe you deserve and thus won’t react in an entertaining way, nor will physical torture,’ Crowley said. ‘No, the key to you, Luke Castellan, is emotional pain. That is why you chose Kronos. That is why you turned yourself into a living weapon. And it will be what breaks you.’

Oh, no. 

Crowley stalked closer, a cruel grin on his face. ‘Who will it be, Luke? Your grieving mother? The friends you hurt, deceived, and betrayed? Will they be the ones I’ll be forced to hurt because you wouldn’t comply?’

He sounded just like Kronos. Luke’s heart broke in his chest. 

Please, don’t. Don’t you dare, he thought.

‘Oh, I know just how he got you to comply,’ Crowley said. ‘I know the words he said. I know you know them still and that they still weigh upon your mind.’

‘Ἐκδίκησις’, said Crowley, and Luke flinched.

Revenge. Luke’s purpose. What he was supposed to remember every day, what was supposed to be his motivation. 

‘ὑποτακτικός,’ Crowley added.

Submissive. What Luke was supposed to be around Kronos. Because Kronos was his helper, his master. Kronos had been kind enough to help him in his cause, Luke could only give Kronos anything he desired in return. Kronos was above him, and he always had to remember that.

‘Φόβος,’ Crowley chimed in.

Fear. The one constant in Luke’s life. The greatest motivator.  This was what got Luke moving, trying to figure a way out now that pain and shock was no longer blinding his brain. Luke kept his eyes on the distracted Crowley, but his bound hand was focused heavily on trying to get out of the shackle. He felt his thumb crack, dislocated out of place, and he smiled internally, knowing all too well that it would aid him when he-

Crowley tutted and Luke’s entire arm twisted in a way that was definitely not natural. Eyes burning, Luke glared at the demon, pain rushing through his body once again.

‘You can’t escape,’ the demon grinned. ‘No one is coming for you.’

*

Cas froze, blue eyes wide.

‘What is it?’ Dean asked.

It had been little over three hours since Crowley had blown up the Impala and kidnapped Luke. The trio were gathered in the Bunker, Castiel having pierced the Impala back together so they could drive back to it (because they needed to access the resources there if there was any chance of saving Luke). Specifically, the two men and the angel were standing in the library, lore books and spell books scattered around.

‘Luke just prayed to me,’ the angel said, voice soft. ‘I know where he is.’

‘Right, let’s go,’ Dean said determinedly.

He saw Sam and Cas exchange a glance. He had a feeling they were communicating telepathically and he was not a fan of it.

‘What?’ Dean demanded.

‘You’re not coming, Dean,’ Sam told him.

‘Of fucking course I’m coming! What do you think I am, a pussy?’ Dean snapped.

‘Dean,’ Cas said softly. ‘Crowley brought Luke down to hell.’

Dean’s stomach dropped into his shoes.

‘What?’ Dean whispered.

‘I can only bring one of you without risking one of you dying when I fly us down there,’ Cas explained. ‘And I don’t…I don’t want to expose you to that place again.’

Dean swallowed. That made sense. He still had nightmares about hell, all these years later, after all. Alastair had done fucked up shit to him there. But still…a part of him felt useless just sitting here, waiting for Cas and Sam to come back (hopefully with Luke in tow). The agony of waiting…well, that might just be worse than damnation.

Cas marched forward, blue eyes determined. ‘Dean, you are not worthless.’ He cupped Dean’s cheeks with his hands, eyes boring into Dean’s. ‘And hopefully, you won’t have to wait all that long.’

‘Dean, we’ll come back,’ Sam promised. ‘Even death can’t keep us down.’

Dean did not feel reassured. Not in the slightest. Every time he saw Cas or Sam die, or found out that they were dead, it broke him. But he knew all too well how stubborn Sam and Cas could be- they would never listen to reason. And Luke needed to be rescued. So he sighed.

‘At the very least…if you don’t come back…Cas, I want you to know…’ Dean began, but found that his feelings were too hard to express in words (especially for an all-American boy raised to be a manwhore with women under John ‘queers are weird’ Winchester), so he leaned in and pressed his lips to Cas’ lips.

Cas’ lips were nothing like a woman’s. They were rough, chapped, but gentle instead of demanding. Soothing instead of ravenous. But it was the best damn kiss of Dean’s life. Eventually, though, Cas pulled back.

‘Be careful,’ Dean pleaded.

I love you, I love you, please don’t die on me, please don’t leave me just as we’ve discovered happiness.

Cas’ eyes softened. ‘I promise to you, I will come back. I will not leave you alone.’

I love you too, Dean, Cas’ voice whispered in his head.

‘Stay safe, Dean,’ Sam said, and then he and Cas vanished, leaving Dean alone in the library. 

Dean sighed, his heart weighing heavily in his chest. It felt terrible to be sidelined, even though it had been for a good reason. He collapsed into a nearby chair and stared at where Cas and Sam had been only moments before for a few seconds then shook himself out of his stupor. If he was going to survive this, he was going to have to stay busy. So he stood up and forced himself to leave the library, deciding to go improvise a room for Luke.

He didn’t know what the kid would like, but he found a spare room that thankfully was devoid of any magical mayhem causing artifacts. He dragged down a mattress from one of the storage rooms and propped it up on the floor before draping it in some clean sheets and a blue, raggedy comforter. Dean frowned. Something was missing. And it seemed to be Luke himself.

His heart ached. He wondered if Cas and Sam were in hell yet, wondered if they were fighting right now. He hoped Luke was okay. His mind conjured images of three blood-soaked bodies, three broken graves, and he nearly fell to his knees at the idea. He shuddered, Alastair’s gray eyes flashing before him like hellish reminders of what it was like down there (of what Luke, Cas, and Sam were probably experiencing right now).

His stomach twisted with nausea and he almost threw up, though he managed to bite it back. Dean really did not want to think about what had gone on down in the pit for the four months (forty years in hell-time) when he had been down there, because then he’d picture his memories happening to his family down there and he’d freak out even more than he already was. He gave one last look around the room and decided to come back later, when he was not so tense…and when the memories of perdition weren’t running through his head like ghosts chasing his ass. He hurried out, leaving the door ajar behind him, and found himself in the kitchen with a bottle of beer in his hand as he slumped in a chair at the table as he waited, alone, in a supernatural bunker in the middle of frickin’ Kansas. 

He reached across the table and flicked on the radio, unable to bear the silence anymore. 

‘When I wake up, well I know I’m gonna be- I’m gonna be the man who wakes up next to you. When I go out, yeah, I know I’m gonna be- I’m gonna be the man who goes along with you. If I get drunk, well, I know I’m gonna be- I’m gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you. And if I haver, hey, I know I’m gonna be- I’m gonna be the man who’s havering to you.’

Dean sipped at his beer, still tense, letting the music distract him.

‘But I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more, just to be the man who walks a thousand miles to fall down at your door.’

Dean turned the radio off in the end. It - the song- reminded him too much of himself and Cas.

Please be okay, he found himself praying to the angel, uncaring of who heard. Please don’t leave me with only the memory of your lips and your wings. Please keep Sam safe. Please, both of you come home. Please. All of you- stay safe. Come back.

Dean had said far too many goodbyes in his relatively short life. Almost all of them had been to people he had cared about (Sam, John, Cas, Ellen, Jo, Bobby). And god, saying goodbye to two or three more people would probably destroy him (especially considering how codependent he and Sam were and the fact they had no non-hunter friends that were still alive). He had lost so much already, why couldn’t he have this?

Why couldn’t he have his family for once in his goddamn life? He told himself to stop whining and complaining, but that sounded awfully like John, and he hated that so he just shut up and drank his beer. He must’ve sat there for hours, his back flaring with pain, even when he was finished with his drink, because his eyes fluttered shut and he slipped into sleep. And with sleep came the nightmares, bloody and vivid and disturbing. First he saw Sam writhing on the rack, Alastair smirking beside him, gray eyes pleased.

Then he saw Castiel, crumpled on the ground, back bloodied, Crowley standing over him with a bloodied angel blade. Dean nearly sobbed when he saw that Crowley had cut off Cas’ wings, which were raven-black and now laying on the floor. Next in the chain of haunting nightmares was one with Luke. This time, though, Luke was running. Running through the woods as invisible hounds (Crowley’s hellhounds) chased him. 

And with a gut-piercing shriek, Luke was knocked to the ground, and the damned beasts tore into him until he was nothing more than viscera splattered on the ground and vague lumps of flesh. But Dean couldn’t look away. He wasn’t allowed to. He was forced to watch, an unwilling voyeur to this saga of sadism. And things grew darker from there.

Next there was Sam stumbling through the dark, covered in blood, stalked by the most disturbing looking clowns that Dean had ever seen (and he didn't have a clown phobia), with leeches climbing up Sam’s tall moosey body. Dean would have shuddered if he were capable. One of the clowns then managed to trip Sam, and Dean’s brother toppled onto the ground, swarmed by psychopathic clowns and freaky-ass parasites that craved his blood. In the next one, Cas was on his knees, staring desperately at Dean.

‘Dean,’ the angel begged. ‘Please save me!’

Dean reached out, desperate, but then someone decapitated Cas, and he was too late. Far too late. Castiel’s head hit the ground in a spray of blood and Dean felt his heart shatter in his chest. He was a failure. He couldn’t save anyone he loved. 

It was so disturbingly realistic, the smell of blood in the air and the color of it on the ground and even the details in Castiel’s eyes and body, that it seemed so very real, even though a part of Dean knew it could not possibly be so. And it broke his heart. 

*

Crowley paused, dark eyes widening. Luke, sprawled on a cold stone floor, eyed the demon with anxiety, bracing himself for more blows. His entire body felt like one giant bruise. His lips were busted and his voice hoarse, both eyes black and one arm broken.

‘What the…’ Crowley muttered to himself. ‘I suppose they actually do care for you after all, Castellan…’

Luke knew better than to trust anything the slimy bastard said. But his heart lit up anyways. How could it not? Even a little bit of hope is enough light to light up Challenger Deep. And right now, he felt completely lost in the dark.

Crowley peered at Luke. ‘You’re an odd one. They don’t get attached all that easily these days.’

‘I am a kindred soul,’ Luke rasped out, his throat aching as he did so.

‘Indeed,’ Crowley murmured. ‘And I’ve seen what the Winchesters are capable of…I don’t truly want them as enemies. And knowing them, they’d find a way to rescue you even if I killed you and brought your soul down to hell for eternity.’

Luke tried to keep his hopes down but they soared anyways, despite him knowing that Crowley was a pathological liar and a sadist. 

Crowley eyed Luke thoughtfully. ‘In the end it would not be worth it, breaking you, because then they’d come and harass me. Which they’re already trying to do.’ The demon sighed. ‘Damn Winchesters.’

The demon snapped his fingers and the room vanished, leaving Luke crumpled on a black beach made up of pink sand, his thoughts spinning. Crowley was nowhere to be seen, though, thank the gods. Luke sat up with a groan, his body aching, holding his broken arm to his chest. He glanced around, saw no one, and decided that he was going to pray to Castiel instead of trying to find society.

Castiel was an angel, so he had to hear prayers, right?

Hey, Castiel. Crowley kind of kicked me out after you seemingly entered hell- I don’t know why you took such a crazy risk for me- and I think I’m in the Bahamas, on Harbor Island. When you hear this, please come find me. Thank you. Um, amen?

Luke sighed and surveyed his surroundings. There did not appear to be any sign of danger, but Luke wished to remain vigilant. He knew better than to trust that things would be easy, calm, or relaxing; two and half decades as a demigod had taught him that when things were quiet that the danger was only ramping up. The beach, however, was gorgeous, the sands a shimmering pink not unlike a blush and the water was vibrant and stunning. A warm breeze blew as the sun glowed relatively low in the sky.

He wondered if he should stay right here or if he should move. He decided to go with the situation and improvise if he needed to. For now, he sat tight, wondered what game Crowley was playing (because surely the demon lord of hell had not let him go out of the kindness of his heart), and hoped that it wouldn’t be too long before the angel showed up. His broken arm stung like hell and his entire body was still aching and he was probably sleep deprived, so he probably would not be able to put up much of a fight if anything attacked.

His eyes tried to close, exhaustion dancing at the edges of his senses, but he forced himself to remain conscious.

‘Come on, Luke,’ he told himself. ‘No rest for the wicked. You have to stay awake in case Castiel finds you.’

He wasn’t sure how the angel praying system worked and if he needed to be conscious and in the same spot he prayed from in order for the angel to find him, due to his nonconsensual enforced paganism, but he wasn’t willing to tempt fate by doing something as mundane as falling asleep. He had more sense than that, thank you very much. But unfortunately his body was being stubborn and doing stupid stuff like hurting, which turned to be a wee little bit of an exhausting distraction that really made him want to curl up and go to sleep to escape it. Argh. Stupid human bodies.

He sat there for who knows how long, sand itching in his hair and on other uncomfortable parts of his body, as the sun blazed above him. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.