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Chapter Text

"This is all your fault."

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Crowley as the demon paced back and forth in the cramped tunnel. "How is it my fault?"

"You let a bloody witch get the better of you!" Crowley scowled, agitated footfalls crunching across loose silt from the underground cavern they'd been trapped in. He took two more steps, only for the chain around his wrist to yank taut, preventing him from moving further.

Castiel gritted his teeth as his own manacle tugged. He was no more pleased about being chained together than Crowley was. "Rowena is your mother. You're the one she's trying to punish." Castiel had just been collateral.

Rowena stood at the table, reciting a spell over the bowl of blood and other ingredients they'd needed to remove the Mark of Cain from Dean's arm. Castiel watched with growing unease as the witch's voice rose and crescendoed with roiling anger. She'd been forced to sacrifice the one thing she had ever loved in the boy named Oskar to make this magic work. Crowley's mouth curved upward in a small smile.

"Ab cruore cordis Mei adfusuro in aeternum. Tolle maledictionem tuam ab hoc viro." Rowena added Dean's hair to the bowl, and bluish smoke began to curl into the air. A radiant light illuminated the witch's face.

Castiel shot a worried look at Crowley. He had a bad feeling about this…

The bowl exploded, a shockwave slamming into Castiel and throwing him against the wall. Pain radiated through his vessel for a brief moment before he managed to stagger to his feet. Across the room, Crowley was also stumbling upright.

The sound of chains falling to the floor had Castiel surging toward Rowena, but she shot her hands out at both of them.

"Manete!"

Castiel lurched to a stop, suddenly unable to move. "What is this?" he gasped.

A glance at Crowley showed him rooted to the floor as well, pushing futilely against the binding force. Grinning widely, Rowena reached for the Book of the Damned and the Codex.

"This is impossible," Crowley uttered, slowly straightening. "You're not powerful enough."

Rowena shot him a dry look. "To what? Control the legs of a bored king and a withered angel?"

Castiel continued to struggle. Crowley was right, this shouldn't be possible…

"Couno," Rowena said, and the chains that had bound her only moments before flew up from the floor. One manacle snapped around Castiel's wrist, while the second latched around Crowley's. And the last vestige of power Castiel had been trying to summon to break the witch's hold snuffed out under the binding sigils.

Rowena gave her son a simpering smile. "I'm afraid, Fergus, that in all your long life, you've never seen what a real witch can do with real magic. I'm terrifically pleased you'll have an eternity in prison to remember this now." Extending one arm, she lowered her voice and began to chant. "Tempus et spatium in sinu meo, aperuerunt portam antiquam carcerem."

A burst of wind whipped around them, and the air wobbled with refracted light as the concrete wall cracked and split into a glowing portal. Castiel's heart leaped into his throat as he realized he was helpless to react.

"Auferte malum."

Crowley went flying, straight into the vortex, and since the chain linked them together, Castiel was pulled in too.

Thus, angel and demon had found themselves in this undisclosed, underground cavern, with no discernible way out. Castiel didn't know how Rowena had gained so much power so quickly. Perhaps she'd woven something into the spell to remove the Mark, or perhaps it was part of the trade-off. Using magic from the Book of the Damned was dangerous and came with a price. But Sam had said they needed to make it happen, no matter the cost. And Castiel had agreed. He always agreed when it came to protecting the Winchesters.

And he was paying for it, just as he always did.

Crowley pivoted sharply, yanking on the chain and Castiel's arm again. The angel nearly growled in annoyance. The chain had five feet of slack between them, but it wasn't nearly enough space.

"I'm going to gut her like a fish," Crowley was muttering under his breath. "Paint the walls with her intestines."

Castiel rolled his eyes; they needed to find a way out of here first. He withdrew his angel blade from his coat. It was fortunate he'd grown accustomed to keeping it on his physical person, rather than on the ethereal plane, a habit he'd developed since his time as a human. He would've been unable to access it otherwise with his powers shut down as they were.

Lifting his shackled arm, he stuck the point into the locking mechanism and tried to jimmy it. Unfortunately, lock picking lessons was one of the things Dean had promised to teach him some time ago…but hadn't ever gotten around to.

Castiel's thoughts turned to Dean, wondering if the spell had even worked. He hoped so, hoped it all hadn't been for nothing. He wondered what the Winchesters would think about his disappearance. Assume he'd been killed? There wouldn't be a body or wing prints left behind in the abandoned basement. It wasn't the first time he'd vanished in the wake of a spell; perhaps they'd think Castiel had been sent to a place like Purgatory. In which case, there was nothing for them to do about it.

Or, would Dean think Castiel had just left? Gotten the Mark off him and then taken off, not wanting to face the hunter after their last…encounter. Of course Castiel didn't blame Dean for that. It was the Mark's rage, and though every fist that split skin and shattered bone hurt, both physically and otherwise, Castiel knew it wasn't really Dean. Not that Castiel didn't deserve a beating or two, given his history. But he did grieve over the fact that Dean might believe Castiel had given up on him. Which wasn't true. It would never be true.

Crowley tugged the chain taut again, jerking Castiel's arm and making the blade slip.

"Would you hold still?" he snapped.

The demon paused, eyes narrowing as Castiel once again tried to wedge the point of his blade into the lock. When that didn't work, he moved to a chainlink, attempting to at least detach himself from the King of Hell. But he wasn't having much luck with that, either.

Mounting frustration over his predicament and helplessness made Castiel grip the hilt tighter and switch from subtle prodding to bluntly striking the metal. All that succeeded in doing, however, was creating a discordant clatter that aggravated his headache. Perhaps if he had his normal strength…but the shackle on his arm was hampering his powers, and…Castiel hadn't possessed his original strength for a while now. Even with his own grace restored, it wasn't what it had once been, not since Metatron had sliced and diced it up for his spell.

Castiel gave up with a heavy sigh, slumping back to lean against the wall.

"Perhaps you should try cutting your arm off."

Castiel glowered at Crowley, and lifted the blade a fraction. "Or yours."

He wondered if the demon had an angel blade on him, as well. With nerves mutually frayed, there was a likely chance they could try to kill each other before finding a way out of this mess.

They exchanged glares for a prolonged beat before Crowley finally looked away. "Well," the demon said. "No use standing around here waiting for a rescue that isn't coming." He took a few steps down the tunnel, only to jolt to a stop when the chain jerked. Crowley shot Castiel an irritated look, which the angel returned.

It irked Castiel on an instinctual level to follow the demon's lead. But, Crowley was right that lingering here wasn't going to get them anywhere. So, swallowing his annoyance, Castiel stowed his blade and fell into step beside the King of Hell.

The tunnel was long and dark, though neither angel nor demon needed light to navigate by. There was a good five feet of space above their heads, and the width of the tunnel allowed them to keep some distance from each other.

"What if we're traveling deeper into a mountain?" Castiel brought up after nearly an hour of walking with no change in the environment. The air was close and musty, almost oppressive. Who knew how many tons of earth was bearing down on their heads. Should something like an earthquake happen, they could be buried alive, too immortal to die but too weak to heal. That was an utterly terrifying thought… "Perhaps we should have gone the other direction."

"Or the other direction could lead to a dead end," Crowley retorted. "What, you want to turn around? What if the exit is just a little further?"

Castiel clamped his mouth shut, and refrained from pointing out when 'a little further' did not produce an exit, but just more dark, winding tunnel. Struck by idle curiosity, Castiel reached into his pocket for his cell phone. No service. Oh well, it was worth a try.

The glow from the LED screen spilled across the wall, and Castiel pulled up short at the sight of markings. Holding the lit cell phone closer for inspection, he scanned the scratches on the stone. His arm yanked when Crowley was jerked to an unexpected stop.

"This is no time to admire the scenery," the demon groused.

Castiel ignored him. "This is Linear A."

"Fascinating," Crowley replied dryly. "Can we focus here!"

Castiel studied the cave markings. "Based on the Minoan attributes and content, it would appear we are in one of the ancient labyrinths." Which did not bode well for them.

He lifted a hand to one of the hieroglyphs that denoted a name. "Tarhunzas."

Crowley's eyes widened a fraction. "Oh, bloody hell," he muttered.

Castiel glanced over his shoulder, brow furrowing. "What?"

"My mother has a twisted sense of humor." Shaking his head, Crowley began roving his gaze over the tunnel in new understanding. "This isn't just some archeological site buried for centuries; it's a prison set out of normal space and time."

Castiel frowned. "How can you be sure?"

"I know the entity who resides here, and that's his name you just read." He spun around, letting loose another string of curses.

"And how would Rowena know of this place?" Castiel asked. There was no point in asking how she'd even had the power to send them here, though he'd like to address it if they ever got out. Castiel's stomach twinged with worry for the Winchesters. Rowena had the Book of the Damned and the Codex, which made her exponentially more dangerous running loose in the world.

Crowley shrugged. "She's resourceful. Had her hands in anything she could back at court." He scowled again. "Can't trust anyone to keep their mouths shut these days."

"Then, it doesn't matter how far we walk," Castiel said, realization sinking like a stone in his gut. "We're essentially trapped in some kind of pocket dimension?"

"Essentially. Our only chance is to reach the center of the labyrinth where the lord of this place—Teshub—dwells. He might be persuaded to remove these cuffs." Crowley lifted his chained arm for emphasis.

Castiel's mouth pressed into a thin line. Teshub was the Hurrian god of sky and storm. And the pagan deities were not known for their altruistic actions. But, if anyone could talk someone into a deal, it was the former King of the Crossroads.

"Can Teshub open a portal for us to travel through?" Castiel asked.

"Er, no," Crowley replied. "This prison was built for him, actually."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "Then how can we possibly escape?"

"Any supernatural being with the power to teleport can come and go," Crowley explained. "Only Teshub is bound to the labyrinth. But since these bloody manacles are blocking our powers, we'll need his assistance in removing them."

That posed a problem, then. Castiel's wings were broken, and he wouldn't be able to use them to escape this pocket dimension.

The King of Hell started walking again, only to stop when Castiel refused to move. "Well come on! We don't have all of eternity!" Crowley cocked his head. "Actually, we do, but I'd prefer to get back and onto torturing my dear mother sooner rather than late."

"How do I know you won't leave me here when the chain is off?"

Crowley's brows rose. "Are you bloody kidding me?"

Castiel crossed his arms. "My wings are not functional, even without the sigiled cuffs," he begrudgingly admitted. "I want your guarantee you won't leave me here, or I'm not moving."

Crowley sputtered. "What, you don't trust me? After everything we've been through together?"

"Exactly."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Fine, you have my word. We leave this forsaken place together."

Castiel dropped his arms to his sides, satisfied. Of the two of them, Crowley had a better track record keeping his word, despite being a demon.

They started walking again. It was strange; not that long ago Castiel had wanted to stay locked up in another dimension where he could do penance. He wasn't finished earning redemption, he knew that. But while Heaven's order had been reestablished, Castiel didn't know if Sam and Dean were alright. And he couldn't spend the rest of eternity locked away, not knowing.

"How do you know so much about this place, anyway?" he asked curiously.

"I've visited before," Crowley said in an offhanded way that Castiel recognized meant the demon was hiding something.

He decided not to press that issue at the moment, though. "Aren't labyrinths supposed to be full of perils? Will there be things that try to hinder us from reaching the center?"

Crowley didn't respond for a moment. "Probably," he finally said. "I hadn't explored the tunnels in great depth when I was here before, but Teshub had made comments about his…pets."

Great. "Are you armed?" Castiel asked. He heard Crowley let out a huff of frustration.

"The angel blade I usually keep on hand is stuck in the void beyond my reach," the demon ground out.

Well, that was both good and bad news for Castiel. Good, because he didn't have to worry about Crowley stabbing him in the back. Though, he didn't imagine the demon would want to drag his corpse around. And, Crowley had made the deal that they would escape together.

But it meant they were not sufficiently armed against any threats that might present themselves, especially without their innate powers.

"How'd you get your blade out?" Crowley asked suspiciously, and Castiel realized that while he was himself relieved to have a slight advantage over the demon, Crowley would not be happy about it.

"I stopped keeping it on the ethereal plane a while ago," he explained.

Crowley hummed thoughtfully and muttered, "Note to self."

They fell into a tense silence then, the only sound the soft crunch and shuffle of silt under their shoes. Castiel did not like pocket dimensions, given his past experiences with them were not very good.

"Do you know who locked Teshub away in this place?" he asked.

"Before my time," was Crowley's clipped reply.

Castiel wondered if it had been Gabriel, back before he'd run off to become a pagan god himself.

"And you're certain you can convince him to aid us?"

Crowley rounded on him. "You're like the bloody kid in the backseat! 'Are we there yet? Are we there yet?'"

Castiel's fingers twitched with the urge to reach for his angel blade, but he caught himself. They would likely be stuck in this place for at least several hours, maybe days, trying to navigate the maze. And they'd make better progress if they weren't at each other's throats. Besides, Crowley was currently Castiel's only means of getting out of here. So he clenched his jaw and resolved not to speak to the villain again.

That is, until they came to a fork in the tunnel. Demon and angel evaluated the two, dark passages, which looked completely identical. Castiel was reminded of a similar situation that'd been downloaded into his brain by Metatron. But Castiel did not think they would be able to 'follow their noses' in this case, as pocket dimensions didn't have access to fresh air.

Crowley drew his shoulders back and shifted to face the left shaft. "We should go this way."

"You said you never saw the tunnels when you were last here," Castiel pointed out. "Which means you can't know which way we need to go."

"As opposed to you, who's never been here at all," Crowley scoffed.

Castiel held back a sigh. "Fine." Let Crowley take the lead. Then, when they found themselves going in circles or finding dead ends, the demon would have no one to complain to but himself. Castiel was an angel, a celestial being millennia older than the former King of the Crossroads; he could be patient.

Or, he could try.

Castiel lost track of time as they made their way through the tunnel, following its bends left and right to the point he had no idea what direction they were heading in anymore. Granted, it was a labyrinth, and that was its function. It was very irksome, though. And Castiel hated to say that he was growing weary, the sigiled cuffs cutting off access to celestial stamina. He couldn't tell if Crowley was also growing tired, but Castiel would never be the first one to mention taking a break.

The King of Hell slowly drew to a stop, eyes peeled into the darkness. There was a large shape bulging out from an alcove in the cave wall. Even bound, Castiel's senses knew it was not a living thing, but he couldn't see every detail. He dug into his pocket for his phone and punched a button to light up the screen. The bluish halo cascaded over what looked like a nest made from bones and strips of tattered clothes. A cracked shield held up one corner; and a rusted sword lay discarded on the ground. A collection of seven skulls lay in the back of the roost, holes jabbed right through the craniums.

"Well," Crowley finally said, reaching up to adjust his shirt collar. "At least we know we're on the right track."

Right, because all of Teshub's 'pets' would be located further in toward the center of the labyrinth. Which was where they needed to go.

Wonderful.

Chapter Text

Despite finding signs that these tunnels were inhabited, another lengthy bout of walking did not bring them into contact with anything. Castiel wondered just how large the labyrinth was. That was the tricky thing about pocket dimensions: they could take up such a small space in the physical world, but from within stretch out almost indefinitely. Or, rather what would seem indefinitely, when really it was just time and space getting bent and wrapped around in knots like a giant soft pretzel.

"The Mark better be off Dean's arm," Crowley grumbled. "Or this all would've been for nothing."

Castiel pulled up short, flummoxed by the odd note in Crowley's tone. There was irritation, yes, but something else. "You actually care what happens to him?" Castiel said dubiously.

Crowley tossed a scoffing look over his shoulder. "Of course not. He's bad for business as a demon."

"But not as a hunter who hunts demons?" Castiel replied wryly.

"I pick my battles." Crowley yanked on the chain to get Castiel moving again.

He fell into step without complaint, thoughts swirling around something else for the time being.

"I heard you and Dean were quite the… 'dynamic duo,'" Castiel forced out, hating the twinge he felt at the memory of that time when Dean had been missing, and then confirmed to be a demon. That Dean had been with Crowley, willingly as both a hitman and… 'friend' …it hurt. Even if he hadn't been himself, the demon side…it was still partly Dean. Dean who had abandoned Sam and Castiel in favor of the King of Hell.

Something flickered in Crowley's eyes, and if Castiel didn't know better, he might say it was emotion.

"Yes, well, summer flings are just that," the demon said flippantly.

Castiel frowned. "You came to me for help curing Dean of his demonism."

"Your point being?"

"You seem to regret the necessity of it. And it was you who brought Dean the First Blade after he'd died." Castiel's throat tightened at that memory, too, and he swallowed hard to maintain a steady tone. "It wasn't just about having an infamous Winchester on your side, was it? You enjoyed his companionship."

Crowley barked out a derisive laugh. "I enjoyed the glory of turning a Winchester to the dark side."

"You didn't accomplish that. The Mark and Metatron did." Castiel bit back a surge of anger at the Scribe. Though human, Metatron was another loose end Castiel needed to tie up one day.

"And then Dean didn't want to play by your rules," Castiel continued. He didn't know the full story, but he imagined even as a demon, Dean would still march to the beat of his own rock song.

"As I said, bad for business," Crowley retorted, voice growing more tense.

"Still—"

Crowley stopped abruptly. "Did you hear that?"

Castiel narrowed his gaze; he hadn't heard anything, and wondered if Crowley was simply trying to halt their conversation. But to be safe, he squinted into the darkness, trying to pierce the oppressive shroud ensconcing them. He instinctively drew his angel blade, though he saw and sensed nothing.

Castiel was just about to accuse Crowley of crying wolf when something skittered up ahead. Something that sounded much larger than a typical rodent.

"Ah, perhaps we should try a different route," Crowley said, taking a step backward.

It was not in Castiel's nature to retreat, not like a cowardly demon, but in this instance, he had no choice but to agree. They turned and hurried back down the way they'd come, searching for one of the forks to take an alternate passage instead. Castiel couldn't tell if the creature was in pursuit, nor did he slow down to check. Crowley was still leading the way, but now was not the time to argue over it.

They veered down another corridor, plunging into yet more unknown territory. An eerie light suffused ahead, and soon their haste brought them to a portion of more expansive tunnel lit by phosphorescent stalactites protruding down from the cave ceiling. The chamber was filled with an amber glow that cast a warm hue over everything. It was almost comforting after the pitch darkness, but unfortunately, the additional illumination also revealed more leftover bones scattered here and there.

Crowley slowed enough to glance over his shoulder the way they'd come. "Well, I think we lost it."

Castiel did not return his blade to his sleeve. Keeping it firmly gripped in hand, he moved forward, now taking the lead and tugging Crowley into following. The demon easily matched his brisk pace, however, and the more spacious cavern allowed them to maintain the maximum distance between them.

The stalactites only grew along this thirty-yard section, and up ahead Castiel could see three more tunnels branching off into darkened passageways once more. His shoulders sagged a fraction. There were no means to tell which would be the right way, and this wandering around lost was beginning to weigh heavily upon him. He briefly considered arguing with Crowley over which direction to take next, but the truth was Castiel had just as much clue as the demon did. Which was none at all.

The sound of silt crumbling loose made Castiel jolt to a stop, throwing his head back to gaze at the stalactites fifteen feet above. They were sharp enough that if one should fall on top of them, it could cause serious damage.

Castiel yanked on the chain in warning. "Move faster." He could almost hear Crowley's scowl from just behind him, but then more pebbles tumbled down the side of the cave wall, and Castiel barely had a second to register that it wasn't the stalactites descending upon them.

He whirled, angel blade raised, just as a giant scorpion the size of a mastiff came skittering out of a burrow up near the ceiling, and dropped onto Crowley.

The demon let out a startled yelp as he was knocked to the ground, arms trying to bat away massive pinchers that clacked and snapped at his face. Castiel leaped in, brandishing his blade and slicing down the scorpion's hide. Unfortunately, though the celestial alloy was strong enough to leave a red score, it did not pierce very far into the creature's exoskeleton.

The scorpion flinched away, spitting a hiss from its tiny mouth. Castiel jabbed at it again until it skittered off of Crowley and the demon rolled the other direction. The monster spun around on its walking legs, and Castiel sidestepped to keep it in front of him. But while Castiel was advancing, Crowley was retreating, and the chain snapped taut between them.

"Crowley," Castiel cursed, trying not to let the demon upset his balance.

The scorpion hunkered down, and Castiel tensed for it to pounce. But it was the tail's metasoma that rippled, stinger glinting in the phosphorescent halo. The tail lashed forward. Castiel ducked, and the aculeus struck the cave wall, knocking loose a chink of rock.

Castiel tried to sweep in under the scorpion's defenses, but found himself yanked backward by the chain. He twisted to avoid landing on his back, and rolled away as a pincher came slamming down near his head. Castiel slashed his blade wildly, hoping to hit something.

With a hiss, the scorpion darted away from the rival stinger and made a beeline for Crowley again. Castiel tried to gain his feet, but the chain was partially wrapped around his torso from when he'd rolled. Crowley had nowhere to go.

The tail arced back for another strike, and Crowley tried to wrench away as it sliced down his chest. He lost his balance and hit the ground with a thud and grunt.

Castiel untangled himself and lunged at the scorpion, bringing his blade straight down through the top of the head and pinning it to the floor. The creature bucked and writhed, a horrible, screeching chitter issuing from it for a whole minute before the seizing turned to twitches and it fell limp, legs curling inward. Castiel yanked his blade free with a squelch.

He turned to Crowley as the demon slowly got to his feet and brushed the dust off his clothes. Castiel scrutinized him. "Are you hurt?"

Crowley patted himself down, expression darkening as he stuck two fingers through a slit in his jacket. There was no blood, though.

"This was my favorite suit," Crowley complained.

Castiel rolled his eyes and stowed his blade. "You're welcome."

He cast one last look at the dead scorpion, and then started heading for the tunnels ahead, not caring that Crowley had to stumble to catch up. He hoped there weren't more creatures like this one lurking around. But, given their luck, it was a foolish hope.

Crowley didn't say anything when Castiel picked the tunnel on the left to enter. The truth was his route decisions up to this point had been arbitrary, and he was just as likely to have selected the same passage. Not that he'd admit it to the angel, of course. Or express gratitude for that rescue back there.

Crowley had lost count of how many times one of them owed the other, whether favors for good turns or vengeance for betrayal. He almost figured it'd be easier to start from scratch, or at least only count instances within the past year. As long as Crowley was the one who came out on top from whenever he decided to start keeping score again.

They left the glowing stalactites behind and once again forged ahead into darkness. As a demon, Crowley could see well enough, as he was sure the angel could too. But the thought that there were more creatures nestled away in shadowed corners, which they would be unable to spot until the last moment, left Crowley feeling somewhat vulnerable. And vulnerability made him irritable.

He appeased himself by imagining all the ways he would torture his dear mother when he got back. One couldn't go wrong with the classics: draw and quarter her, burn her at the stake a few times just for poetic purposes. Not to mention dismembering Rowena's fingers and feeding them to her. And then for a more modern touch, Crowley would try out some waterboarding.

He was so wrapped up in the pleasure those images brought him that he walked into Castiel's back when the angel inexplicably stopped.

"Dammit," Castiel uttered at the dead end they found themselves at.

Crowley arched a brow, his own vexation momentarily forgotten. "Such appalling language for an angel. You've been hanging around Squirrel too long."

Castiel pivoted and started back down the tunnel. Rolling his eyes, Crowley followed.

"Why Dean?" Castiel suddenly asked.

Crowley blinked, struggling to pick up the thread of conversation. "Why Dean what?"

"Why did you turn to him for help finding the First Blade? You must have been planning on bringing him over to your side from the moment you told him about Cain and the Mark."

He scowled. "Are you bloody on about that again?"

Castiel paused long enough to toss a contemplative look over his shoulder. "Abaddon was threatening your rule of Hell, and the Mark and the First Blade were the only way to defeat her. But you could have attempted taking them on yourself. Choosing Dean was a risk, so you must have had some ulterior motive."

Crowley gritted his teeth. Of all the topics they could while away time with, why did Castiel have to harp on this one?

"Dean Winchester has proven himself time and again going up against the baddest of the bad. I wanted to guarantee a win."

And he had won. In more ways than one.

So maybe Crowley thought he and a Mark-turned-demon Dean would make an awesome pair, and maybe he'd had grand visions of the two of them running Hell together. After all, they'd had quite the on and off partnership over the years, starting with the Apocalypse, then with hunting Alphas, and going up against Dick Roman. Yes, Crowley thought they could make a smashing team, once Dean turned dark side.

And then everything backfired and he realized he'd created a monster he couldn't control. Helping Castiel so he could help Sam cure Dean was in his own best interests. That was all. Just as helping Castiel and Rowena (curse her black soul) remove the Mark from Dean was also in Crowley's best interests. It had nothing to do with any sense of sentimentality or…or friendship.

"If you got everything you wanted," Castiel began pointedly, "then why do you seem disappointed?"

Crowley lifted his chin. "What's the matter, Feathers? Knickers in a twist because Dean had much more fun hanging with me and my boys than you and Moose?"

"Dean was under the influence of the Mark and demonism," Castiel snapped. "He wasn't himself."

"Ooh, I think I touched a nerve there."

"Perhaps I touched one, first."

Crowley clenched a fist, and had to draw in a deep breath to keep himself from punching the angel. It didn't bother him. It didn't bother him. He had no attachment to Dean Winchester, and even if he had at one point, it would have only been the lingering effects of Moose's sanctified human blood wreaking havoc with his system. In fact, all of Crowley's disastrous mistakes trying to woo Dean to his side could all be traced to his weakness with human blood addiction. Yes, that was it.

But Crowley had picked himself up and gotten back in charge. Though, he wouldn't be for long if he didn't get out of here. He wondered if his mother would attempt to take his throne. That would be ambitious, even for her, but Crowley wouldn't put it past her, especially now that she had the Book of the Damned.

At that thought, Crowley quickened his pace, overtaking Castiel's lead.

"Remember I'm your ride out of here," he snipped. He didn't need the angel trying to distract him with petty verbal barbs.

Thankfully, Castiel dropped the conversation. They returned to the stalactite cavern, and Crowley's gaze briefly flicked toward the scorpion carcass, just to make sure it was still dead. One never knew with certain mythological creatures. But the body was curled up where they'd left it. Crowley veered into the next tunnel, which was darker than the previous one, if that was even possible.

He slowed his pace, allowing Castiel to pass him. The angel stopped to cast him a questioning look, and Crowley merely shrugged before moving forward again. Better a surprise monster jump out at Castiel first. He was the one with a weapon, after all.

The silence was practically palpable, like a living thing pulsing and breathing around them. It was downright unnerving, and Crowley almost considered striking up a conversation again, just to exert dominance over the quietness.

But it was his taciturnity that allowed him to hear the faint click a few feet ahead. Crowley jolted to a stop, muscles going rigid just as Castiel suddenly dropped straight down. The chain snapped taut, flinging Crowley onto the ground with a heavy thud and dragging him toward a hole that had opened up beneath the angel.

With a sharp cry, Crowley dug his fingers into rock and swung his legs around to catch on a cleft of stone, stopping his momentum. The metal cuff dug into his wrist, bruising down to the bone, and he gritted his teeth, face scrunched up from pain and effort.

Slowly, Crowley lifted his head over the edge of the hole. The tunnel was now lit with a bright amber glow, and Crowley could see large, pointed stalagmites ten feet down in the pit. Castiel was dangling by his cuffed arm, shoes only a few inches above the tallest stake. If he fell, he'd be impaled in half a dozen places. Not to mention he'd drag Crowley over the edge, too.

Castiel craned his head up to look at him.

"This is no time to hang around," Crowley gritted out through clenched teeth. "Climb you moron!" He gasped when the cuff bit into his skin harder as Castiel scrabbled for purchase. The angel couldn't seem to get a grip and kept slipping, each time yanking on Crowley's arm until he thought his shoulder would pop right out of its socket.

"Bloody hell," he grunted, and shifted so he was laying flat on his stomach. He grabbed the chain with his free arm and started to heave. "Shouldn't you cloud hoppers be light as feathers?" he growled.

He managed to haul Castiel up a few inches, enough for the angel to finally reach up and dig his fingers into the edge of the precipice. Crowley pulled again, cheeks puffing from exertion. He leveraged himself up and then threw his weight backwards, providing enough force to heave Castiel up and out of the pit the rest of the way. They both collapsed on the cave floor, breathing heavily.

After several moments, Crowley finally rolled over onto his back. "There. You owe me again."

Castiel's chest heaved, and he lifted his head to stare at the demon. "How do you figure that?"

Crowley held up a hand to count off his fingers. "I gave you that stolen grace so you wouldn't die. I helped you get the ingredients to cure Dean of the Mark."

"Your mother banished me here on your account," Castiel interrupted.

Crowley waved him off. "You saved my life back there, and now I've saved yours again."

"We could be trapped here for decades," Castiel glowered as he slowly managed to climb to his feet. "Are you really going to keep score the whole time?"

He shrugged, still slumped against the wall. "Former Crossroads demon. Long-time habit, you know." And that idea of resetting the count every year seemed like a better and better idea. Though, he dearly hoped they wouldn't be stuck here that long.

With a groan, Crowley pushed himself to his feet as well, casting a wary look at the pit that had almost shish-kebabbed the angel.

"On the bright side," he added. "Booby traps also mean we're getting closer."

Castiel did not appear amused.

Dean's fingers clenched and unclenched around the steering wheel as the Impala roared down the highway into Lebanon. He kept glancing at his forearm and the unblemished patch of skin where the Mark used to be. He was still in a little bit of shock over it not being there anymore. After so long struggling against its bloodlust and rage, its absence left him…light, almost floaty.

Until he remembered what removing it had done—unleashed the Darkness. A primordial evil so ancient and big that God had been the one to lock it away in the past. This was bad, really bad. Dean glanced at Sam in the passenger seat. The sickness that had taken that town was probably only the beginning, and the Winchesters were gonna need help to clean up this mess.

"I can't believe you were working with Rowena," Dean muttered.

Sam shifted in his seat, drawing his shoulders back defensively. "Yeah, I know you're pissed about it. About me lying to you. But you know what, Dean? I don't regret it. I don't regret saving you."

Dean just shook his head. Story of their lives. "Let's just hope the bitch can help us with this now, too."

He pulled the Impala up in front of the old brewery where Sam had apparently set up his secret headquarters for Operation Cure Dean. Everything seemed quiet, but Dean was still on his guard as he followed his brother down the steps to the basement. They both pulled up short at the sight of a body inside.

Dean frowned at the young man whose throat had been cut, and the memory of a boy begging for his life flashed through his mind. He shook it off, and carefully stepped around the cadaver to check the side room. There was no sign of Cas or Rowena.

Sam went to the table and started pushing bowls and ingredients aside. "It's gone!"

Dean stiffened at his brother's harried tone. "What is?"

Sam looked up with wide eyes. "The Book, the Codex, and Charlie's notes."

A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked. Great. Frickin' awesome. "Maybe Cas took them and Rowena somewhere safer." Maybe even back to the bunker. Dean pulled his phone out and dialed Cas's number.

The line clicked, and the standardized operator's voice came on instead. "We're sorry; the person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try your call again."

Dean lowered the phone to stare at the screen. What? He hit redial, but the same thing happened. Cas's phone didn't ring, didn't even go to voicemail.

A hollow pit started carving itself out in Dean's gut. "Sam, try calling Cas."

Sam quirked a confused brow at him, but nevertheless got his phone out to try. After a moment of listening, his forehead creased in obvious concern, and he glanced at Dean again. "That doesn't make sense."

Dean swallowed hard, gaze roving around the abandoned spell ingredients. Something happened here. What if there was more to curing the Mark than just releasing the Darkness? And what if Cas was paying for it?

"We should check the bunker," Sam said. "Maybe it went on lockdown when the Darkness was released." His eyes were wide as though he didn't quite believe it himself. "That's probably it, Dean. Cas is fine."

Dean didn't acknowledge him except to turn around and head back outside. Maybe Sam was right, and Cas was in lockdown at the bunker. They'd go back there, and then the angel would be able to help them with the Darkness before they irreparably broke the world again. Yeah, it'd be that easy…

But when was their luck ever that good?

Chapter Text

Castiel and Crowley had a few more encounters with booby traps as they made their way deeper into the labyrinth. Fortunately, the pop culture knowledge from a handful of movies Metatron had downloaded into Castiel's brain had actually helped him spot the triggers disguised as raised rocks, and so they managed to avoid getting decapitated, impaled, and shot with arrows.

The closer they got to the center, the more polished the tunnels became as well, more smoothly carved out walls with sconces for torches and more elaborate cave drawings with Linear A markings. A golden hue suffused from a passage up ahead, but unlike the soft glow from the stalactites in other caverns, this light was sharp and crisp and fluctuated against the shadows. Torch light.

"Finally," Crowley muttered, his strides turning more purposeful as he approached the opening.

Castiel followed warily.

The chamber they entered was a stark contrast to the dark, narrow tunnels they'd been traversing all this time. With a ceiling arching up into a dome fifty feet high, and smooth, granite columns standing in rows along the left and right, the chamber resembled that of a grand throne room. A trench ran through the floor along the perimeter where low-burning fires kept the place illuminated.

Castiel and Crowley crossed a small land bridge over the flames. There were several other tunnels spaced around the edges of the round chamber, each with a similar bridge crossing the trench. And in the very center of the cavern was a single tiered dais with a bronze plated throne set in the middle. Angel and demon drew to a stop, taking in the figure who sat upon it.

Teshub was a brawny brute of a man, with bulging biceps and firm looking pectoral muscles. He wore nothing but a black leather war skirt, bronze studded vambraces on his forearms, and a helmet with bull horns, from which cascaded a waterfall of tawny hair.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the Hurrian god, who was leaning back on his throne with eyes closed. He had a sandy tinge to his skin, almost dry and flaky like the sediment rocks around them. In fact, the pagan deity's limbs seemed to be almost quartz-like extensions from the ground and throne armrests.

Crowley let out a huff under his breath. "Teshub, how you've let yourself go."

Castiel also regarded the Hurrian god dubiously. Centuries trapped in this pocket dimension had certainly not been kind to him. And though the pagan entities were immortal, Castiel wondered whether Teshub could even be called 'alive' at this point.

Pulling his shoulders back, he approached cautiously. "Uh, excuse me?"

Crowley shuffled along behind him, but maintained the maximum distance the chain allowed.

Castiel reached the edge of the dais. "Hello?"

Teshub showed no signs of life.

"Just hit him," Crowley suggested, rather unhelpfully.

Castiel shot a glower over his shoulder, but as he turned back to face the unresponsive deity, he had to admit they were in a bit of a bind here. They needed someone to remove the sigiled cuffs, and that meant they had to find a way to wake the Hurrian god.

Pursing his mouth in distaste, Castiel stepped up onto the dais and nudged the god's foot with his own, then harder when nothing happened. Finally, Castiel kicked Teshub's shin.

"Oy!" Crowley yelled. "Wake up you mongrel!"

Castiel was beginning to feel the weight of yet more disappointment, when a faint creak issued from the sleeping god. Teshub's eyes snapped open, and Castiel stumbled backward off the dais. The pagan deity didn't move, however. Cloudy pupils darted back and forth before finally narrowing on the visitors. Then with a small crack of stone fracturing, Teshub lifted his head.

"Who trespasses here?" he rumbled slowly, voice hoarse from disuse.

"We didn't mean to trespass," Castiel hurried to reply. "A witch banished us here."

Teshub blinked at him groggily, as though not fully registering his presence, and for a moment, Castiel thought the god's eyelids would permanently drift shut again.

"We, uh, apologize for disturbing you. If you would grant us assistance with a small matter, we would leave your…domain, immediately."

Teshub was silent for a minute. "No one leaves this realm. Sacrificial offerings are sentenced to wander the labyrinth until they fall prey to one of its many perils."

"We're not—"

"Right," Crowley interrupted. "We'll get on that, if you'd be so kind as to remove these manacles." He lifted his arm and shook his wrist, making the chain jangle.

Castiel inwardly rolled his eyes. What happened to the King of the Crossroads's finesse?

Teshub stared blankly at them for several long moments, making Castiel uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat. "Can you unlock these cuffs?" Castiel flicked an uncertain gaze to the Hurrian god's arms, which had yet to detach from the throne's armrests. Only his neck had moved so far.

"Why…" Teshub began, voice gradually growing stronger. "Would I do that?"

"Gives us a fighting chance in the labyrinth," Crowley spoke up. "You'd want the entertainment to last for your pets, don't you?"

Castiel frowned. That wasn't actually the reason, though perhaps Teshub would not be willing to help them if he knew they could easily escape a prison he was forever trapped in. But release them so they could provide better sport for his monsters…well, that was logical. Perhaps Castiel should have a little more faith in Crowley's negotiating skills after all.

Teshub canted his head, working loose a sprinkling of sediment that had crusted over his muscles. His eyes were beginning to clear of their fog, and there was a sharpening glint as he regarded Crowley, who Castiel finally noticed was trying to stand behind him so as to be somewhat concealed.

Teshub straightened, snapping his shoulders free of their sedentary state. "I know you." His eyes flashed angrily, and cracks ran through his fingers as they gripped the armrests. "You are the demon scum that came here to steal from me."

Castiel turned to give Crowley a half-exasperated, half-peeved glare. He probably should have seen that coming, given what he knew about the demon. Crowley had admitted that his knowledge of this place came from a previous visit, and of course it would have been for sinister purposes.

"Ah, yes…" the King of Hell hedged. "But if you remember, I wasn't the only one who tried to steal from you, and if it weren't for my intervention, they would have killed you."

More stone cracked as Teshub pushed himself up out of his seat. Despite his muscular thighs, he rose stiffly, as though his bones had to remember they had flexible joints and were not cast in granite molds. More silt was shed from his skin to crumble on the floor.

"Yes…" Teshub said slowly, and his gaze snapped to Castiel, narrowing in fury. "I remember the angel." A low growl reverberated in his throat. "I hate angels."

Angel? Castiel's brows rose in confusion, and he shot a perplexed look at Crowley. An angel had come to steal something from the pagan deity? Was that when Teshub had been locked away? Maybe it was Gabriel, or even Balthazar.

Teshub took a staggering step off the dais. "I will punish you for your crimes."

"Wait," Castiel interjected. "I don't know what angel you encountered before, but we're not here to steal from you now."

Teshub's gaze briefly flitted over the manacles binding Castiel and Crowley together. "No," he said with a grin. "You are not." He rolled his neck, cracking several vertebrae. "I have slept for eons since your last intrusion," he spoke to Crowley. "But now I have something to rise for."

Teshub leaned down, bones creaking, to retrieve something from behind the throne. Crowley started backing up, tugging at the chain earnestly when Castiel didn't move. Castiel shot the demon a furious look. In what version of events had the demon thought Teshub would actually help them, given Crowley had stolen from him? This whole plan had been condemned from the start.

Static rippled through the air, and Castiel stiffened as Teshub withdrew a triple thunderbolt from behind the throne. The plasma prongs sizzled and spat with coiled energy, igniting a sadistic gleam in the demigod's eyes. Teshub aimed the weapon at Crowley, and a bolt of lightning shot toward him. Crowley tried to dodge, but the chain between him and Castiel was already stretched taut, and he moved the wrong direction.

The lightning struck him in the chest, arching his back into a locked spasm as a scream rent from his throat. Some of the electricity zinged down the chain and into Castiel, jolting through his nerve endings and almost bringing him to his knees.

Crowley crumpled when the lightning fizzled out, mouth agape in shock. Tendrils of smoke curled up from his suit, and Castiel had the fleeting thought that the King of Hell would be sore about that.

Teshub descended the dais toward Crowley, thunderbolt steadily recharging.

Wincing from the leftover tingle of being electrocuted, Castiel nevertheless whipped out his angel blade and leaped into Teshub's path.

"Please, we just want—"

With a snarl, Teshub thrust the triple thunderbolt at him. Castiel brandished his blade up in an outward arc, knocking the weapon from the demigod's hand before it could fire. He brought his other arm around in a left jab that sent Teshub flying backwards onto his ass. The Hurrian god gave himself a rough shake as though to dispel some lingering brain fog. His reflexes were slow, probably due to sleeping for centuries, but Castiel had no doubt he would regain his stamina if pressed.

He quickly turned to Crowley, still collapsed on the ground. "Can you stand?" Castiel barked.

Crowley managed to level a fuming look up at him, which Castiel took as a good sign.

A grunt from the dais distracted him, and Castiel whirled back around to find Teshub dragging a heavy, double-headed axe from under the throne. His adrenaline spiked. Even at full power—which meant little nowadays—Castiel would be up against his match with a pagan deity armed like that. Chained to the King of Hell, with little room for maneuverability, stacked the odds heavily against him.

Crowley struggled to his feet. "Time to go."

Castiel couldn't agree more. While Teshub was still fumbling to regain his composure, both angel and demon turned and fled back into the tunnels.

Sam set the last book back in its rightful place on the shelf. It had taken a few days to clean up the mess the Stynes had left. Some of the lore volumes hadn't been salvageable, the ink on their pages having completely bled into illegible splotches from gasoline seeping all the way through. Sam just had to hope there hadn't been some obscure reference to the Darkness within those tomes, since they weren't having much luck searching the catalog.

They'd heard nothing from Cas, either.

Sam didn't know what to think. Could Rowena have done something to him? But she was just a witch and he was an angel, even had his own grace back, so it wasn't like Cas was in a weakened state to begin with. But then where the hell was he?

Several times a day, Sam caught Dean dialing a number on his cell and hanging up after a few seconds. That was the other disconcerting thing—why was Cas's phone not functioning? Sam had checked the service, and the number hadn't been disconnected. The only other explanation he could find on the internet was that Cas's phone was probably somewhere way out of range. Heaven maybe? But why would he be up there?

Sam even tried praying to Cas, but got no response, either in the form of a phone call or a knock on the bunker's door. He didn't ask, but Sam suspected Dean had done the same.

So they were left with no leads on Cas, Rowena, or the Darkness.

Until Dean got a call from another hunter who'd stumbled upon a case in Denver where three women had been found nearly disintegrated. After some digging, Joel had determined they were witches, and that Rowena was attempting to recruit members into something called the 'Mega Coven,' whatever the hell that was supposed to be. Apparently the Scottish bitch didn't take the answer 'no' very well.

"Any idea where Rowena is now?" Dean asked.

"Nope," Joel replied through the speaker.

Dean rubbed a hand across his face in clear frustration. "We need to find her."

"One of the witches who got away is hiding in police custody. I can take another run at her."

"Okay, good," Dean said. "Get her to scry for Rowena's location and then text us where she's at."

"Will do." Joel hung up, and the Winchesters separated to gather their gear in preparation to hit the road.

At least they finally had a lead, even if the confirmation that Rowena was alive and well actually made Sam more worried by Cas's conspicuous absence. Dean was probably thinking the same, for the drive to Denver was silent and tense. The brothers had mostly worked out the issues between them, stemming from Sam disregarding Dean's wishes, and Dean giving Sam a beat-down in that restaurant while Death looked on. They'd resolved to do better, to change the habits that led them to sacrificing other people for each other.

Too bad starting came after they'd unleashed yet another new evil and lost Cas.

No, not lost. Cas was missing, but he wasn't gone forever. He couldn't be.

They were an hour outside of Denver with still no update from Joel, when the fellow hunter finally called—to tell them he had Rowena in custody.

Sam and Dean exchanged a startled look.

"What?" Dean sputtered.

Joel snorted over the line. "You think I can't handle one witch? I've been doing this just as long as you fellas."

"Uh," Sam floundered. "It's just that Rowena's pretty powerful." Able to remove the Mark, make an angel disappear…

"I used a hex bag to subdue her," Joel replied nonchalantly. "So how long before you guys get here? She's probably gonna wake up soon."

"Get a set of handcuffs," Dean ordered. "Sam's gonna send you a picture of the runes to etch on the sides. You snap those on her right away."

Sam scrambled to get his phone out and pull up the picture Joel needed. They hung up with the hunter and fell into another round of silence, as though both were unsure whether to take this as good news, or the calm before the shit hit the fan.

Not that it hadn't already done that. So weren't they due for a win at this point?

A little while later, they finally pulled up outside a brick building where they found Joel casually leaning against the trunk of a sedan and smoking a cigarette. Next to him, Rowena sat on the ground, legs crossed and expression poised as though meditating.

"Ah, the Winchesters," her lilting voice greeted as they exited the Impala. "I don't suppose you're here to thank me for removing the Mark of Cain, which, by the way, you're welcome."

"Thanks, man," Dean said to Joel, ignoring the witch. "We'll take it from here."

Sam retrieved their set of more heavy duty, magic canceling handcuffs from the trunk and stormed over to Rowena, glaring as he snapped them on her wrists. Once they were secure, Dean took the key from Joel to give the hunter his cuffs back.

Rowena gave a simpering smile. "I think you'd know by now, Samuel, these things don't hold me long."

He yanked her to her feet. "I just need to hold you long enough." Sam manhandled her to the Impala and shoved her into the backseat.

"Well," she huffed. "Chivalry really is dead."

Sam shut the door and climbed up front. Dean got in a minute later, and with a parting wave to Joel, turned the car around to head back to the bunker.

Sam twisted around and fixed Rowena with a steely stare. "What did you do to Cas?"

Rowena's brows rose. "Ah, missing your friend with the bent halo, are you?"

"Where is he?"

Rowena's mouth curved upward. "I'm afraid he's no longer in this world."

Sam's heart stuttered, and the Impala lurched from loss of gas as Dean whipped his head around.

"No," Sam breathed. "You're lying. There was no body."

Rowena's grin widened. "Well, I didn't say 'dead,' dear."

"Rowena," Dean growled, glaring through the rearview mirror. "Just because the Mark is gone doesn't mean I won't pull this car over and go BTK on your ass if you don't start talking, right now!"

Sam glanced out the window at the isolated stretch of highway flitting by. Even though Dean's threat twisted a knot in Sam's stomach, memories of the Mark not quite distant enough yet, he couldn't say he wasn't feeling a similar prompting to violence.

Rowena put on a confused moue. "BTK? I'm afraid I don't know what that means."

"Genghis Khan then! What did you do to Cas?"

"Alright, alright," she muttered. "Mind you, I had no personal grudge against the angel. It was my son I banished."

Dean whipped his head around again. "Crowley? He helped remove the Mark?" Now Dean shot Sam a sharp look.

Sam threw his palms up. "What? No!" He hesitated, and glanced back at Rowena. "Why would he do that?"

Rowena shrugged one shoulder. "The angel needed help getting some ingredients, and asked my son for assistance." Something dark and ugly flashed in her eyes then, but it was gone with a small shake of her head. "Since you failed to kill Crowley per our deal, Samuel, I took matters into my own hands. It was just unfortunate your angel got caught up in it."

Sam's fingers clenched into a fist. Why would Cas have recruited Crowley's help?

"Whatever it takes, Cas," Sam's own words echoed back to him. And Cas didn't know that Sam had tried and failed to take out the King of Hell. But then why would Crowley have bothered helping at all?

"What's she talking about?" Dean demanded, and Sam winced. Crap…

Rowena beat him to the punch. "Oh, surely you knew Sam made a deal with me to kill my son if I removed the Mark of Cain from your arm. Well, is the Mark gone? Yes. Is Crowley dead? No." She angled a shrewd look at Dean. "Mm. Oh, he didn't know?" Rowena tutted, then turned to Sam with feigned shock, "He didn't know!"

Sam swallowed hard before lowering his voice to Dean. "Look, I was gonna tell you. Obviously, nothing ever came of it, so I…I figured there was no point, you know?"

"No point, huh?" Dean rejoined, tone laced with disappointment and accusation.

"I mean, I see what Dean's saying," Rowena interjected again. "Your wee pal Castiel wouldn't be in this pickle if you'd done what you'd promised. I would've had no reason to cast the banishing spell if Crowley were already dead. Excellent point."

"It's not my point," Dean snapped. "Sam knows my point. Keyword—secrets."

Sam's jaw ticked, but he didn't say anything more on the subject. Now wasn't the time to defend his actions. Besides, it'd been his idea to be more open with each other in the first place. So Dean had every right to be pissed.

He turned his attention back to Rowena. "Where did you banish them to?" Obviously somewhere with no cell reception.

"Mm, a nice little slice of ancient Mesopotamia."

Sam frowned. "You sent them back in time?"

"More like out of it."

"Another dimension," Dean guessed, followed by a low curse under his breath. "Well, as soon as we get back to the bunker, you're bringing them back."

Sam jerked his head up. "Wait, what? What do you mean, 'them'? She only needs to bring Cas back."

Dean arched a brow at him. "You want to leave Crowley there?"

"Dean," Sam sputtered. "He is a demon."

"King of Hell."

"Right," Sam pressed. "So why the hell would we willingly rescue him?"

"Because with him gone, it'll be a free-for-all downstairs," Dean replied. "And right now, with everything—" He threw Sam a meaningful look. "Better the enemy you know than the one you don't. We might even need his help. Again."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "He's not gonna be willing to help us. I did try to kill him," he ground out.

"Bigger fish to fry," was Dean's response.

"Well," Rowena put in, crossing her arms. "I'm not bringing my son back. And since I may have bound the two together—literally—I'm afraid the angel is just a lost cause. And there's nothing you can do to make me take it back."

Sam's jaw tightened. "We'll see about that."

Rowena leaned back in her seat, smirking. "That's what I admire in you, Samuel. That plucky optimism." She chuckled. "That plucky, stupid optimism."

Sam shared a look with his brother. He may not have been happy about the idea of rescuing Crowley, but he'd do what was necessary in order to save Cas. They had to.

Chapter Text

It only took a few abrupt turns as Crowley barreled down various tunnels before Castiel was completely lost again. He could only hope that meant Teshub would not easily find them, though this was the Hurrian god's domain and he probably knew it better than they did. One thing in their favor, however, was Teshub seemed to be off his game after slumbering for who knew how many centuries. On the other hand, it meant they were now stuck in this dreadful place with no means of getting help.

"Stop," Castiel finally snapped, coming to a halt and yanking on the chain. He didn't want to blindly run into any more booby traps, or get that far away from the center of the labyrinth, just in case there was some way to salvage this disaster.

Crowley grunted as the chain jerked his arm, and he threw a vexed look over his shoulder. "We should keep moving."

"To where?" Castiel gritted his teeth in growing frustration. "There's nowhere to go except in circles. Teshub will find us eventually. And why didn't you mention that our single recourse for aid was holding a grudge that meant he wouldn't want to help us at all!"

"I'd honestly hoped the old dolt had forgotten about it," Crowley groused, rubbing his wrist where the manacle chafed. "Time passes differently here; the last few decades on earth would've been millennia in this place. You saw him, he was nearly petrified. Too bad his brain wasn't," the demon added under his breath.

"What was he talking about, anyway?" Castiel asked. "You and another angel came to steal something from him?" There was a time he would've thought the arrangement ludicrous, but Crowley had worked with angels on more than one occasion. Including Castiel.

Crowley shrugged, and began to pace the small area between them. "Teshub had been in possession of a rare artifact when he was initially imprisoned. It never hurts to stock up on significant items, so I came to retrieve it. Unfortunately, it was an artifact of 'biblical' nature, and so an angel had also come looking for it. You remember Naomi?"

Castiel's blood ran cold at the name. Naomi was dead, and Castiel had not actively given her much thought for a while, not since Metatron had become the next big threat, and Dean's problem with the Mark of Cain. But during his brief time as a human, Castiel had experienced nightmares. Most of them were related to the Fall and Metatron cutting out his grace, but sometimes they would morph into what Naomi did to him in that white room, the drill boring into his brain and carving him out, replacing him with an automaton. He would dream of killing Dean.

Castiel swallowed against a surge of bile. She was dead, and couldn't hurt him anymore. "What happened?" he asked hoarsely.

Crowley seemed unaware of Castiel's shakiness, thankfully. "We ran into each other in the maze. Even with powers, this place is dangerous to all who enter. We… 'helped' each other, much as you and I are working together now."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "I find that hard to believe. Naomi was a purist."

"That she was," Crowley agreed, mouth cracking into a wicked grin. "You should have seen the faces she made when I tried to seduce her."

Castiel nearly choked. "You what?"

"Ah yes, that was one of the faces," Crowley smirked. "She put up quite a fuss about how disgusted she was, though between you and me…" He paused to give Castiel a conspiratorial brow waggle. "I think deep down she was flattered."

Castiel had to shake off his stupor. "I'm surprised she didn't try to smite you on the spot."

Crowley shrugged. "I convinced her a begrudging alliance was more beneficial to her than striking out on her own. Navigating the labyrinth is treacherous."

"Not that you knew where you were going then, either," Castiel muttered under his breath, but not quietly enough, as Crowley shot him a peeved glower.

The demon brushed it off a second later. "I knew Naomi would turn on me once we found the artifact. Angels and demons—" He clucked his tongue. "—aren't all that different."

Castiel's mouth turned down. "Not all angels were like Naomi."

Crowley canted a wry look at him. "No? Let's not forget the deal you broke way back when." He let out a derisive snort. "From what I've seen, crossroads demons keep their words more than angels do."

Castiel opened his mouth to argue…but snapped it closed, unsure if he actually could. Aside from his own transgression—which he belatedly wondered if Crowley was still sore over—there had been many angels who'd lied and manipulated people with a brutal callousness that did in fact rival that of demons.

"Then why try working with her at all?" he asked.

Crowley shrugged one shoulder. "I'm a lover, not a fighter. In any case, she was using me; I was using her."

Castiel frowned. Sounded exactly like the situation they were in now. Except…Castiel didn't really hate Crowley the way Naomi would have. And wasn't that odd? Crowley had shot him and ripped the Angel Tablet out of his stomach. But he'd also saved Hannah and given Castiel stolen grace to keep him going long enough to cure Dean from being a demon.

Well, their relationship always had been complicated.

"So did you find the artifact?"

"Teshub had it on display back in that throne room," Crowley replied. "Naomi thought it would be a race between us, that I would make for the item as soon as we spotted it."

Castiel narrowed his eyes; he knew the King of Hell all too well, and the demon's tone once again suggested there was more to the story. "But that's not how you played it."

The corner of Crowley's mouth twitched upward. "She was quite flummoxed when I headed the other direction, and it cost her a few precious seconds of hesitation. I summoned Teshub instead, and told him an angel had come here to kill him. While he was busy attacking Naomi, I took the artifact and left."

Castiel shook his head, not at all surprised. And he knew Naomi would not have expected that kind of underhandedness from a demon. A knife in the back, maybe, but not the type of conniving manipulation Crowley was known for.

"What was the artifact?" he asked curiously.

"The Rod of Aaron."

Castiel blinked at him in astonishment. No wonder Naomi didn't want a demon getting their hands on it. "You have the Rod of Aaron stashed away somewhere?"

"Like I said, you never know when it might come in handy." Crowley glanced up and down the tunnel, and let out an exasperated huff. "We need a new plan."

"I doubt even your negotiating skills will convince Teshub to help us now," Castiel muttered.

Crowley shot him a dirty look. "No, but there might be weapons in his possession that are powerful enough to break these." He lifted his shackled hand, scowling at it. "His axe, for example."

Castiel crossed his arms. "That would require very coordinated movements to avoid him splitting our heads instead."

"Or we steal it from him."

Castiel scoffed, and gave the chain a jangle. "We don't exactly have enough slack for someone to play bait."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Must I think of everything? If you don't have anything constructive to add, stop bleeding complaining!"

A heavy chuff snorted from down the tunnel, and both of them whipped their gazes toward it. Two yellow eyes gleamed in the shadows as a massive, hulking shape shuffled forward. It looked like a slowly rolling boulder at first, but then Castiel spotted horns curving out from a blocky head. A hoof clopped on the ground, followed by a puff of air from two nostrils that sent dust swirling.

The bull was all white, save its horns, which were a deep, shiny onyx.

"Bugger," Crowley uttered.

Castiel pulled out his angel blade and gripped it tightly, though he wasn't keen on fighting in their current condition. "Crowley," he said under his breath. "Run."

They both pivoted and took off down the opposite direction. The bull stomped its hoof again before bellowing out a charge and giving chase. Castiel felt the earth rumble from the impacts, and knew the beast was quickly gaining on them. With few other recourses, Castiel shoved Crowley to the ground. The demon face planted in the dirt with a surprised grunt, freeing up the slack for Castiel to spin around and slash his angel blade at the bull. He managed to score a cut across the animal's shoulder, and it lumbered to the side with an enraged bray.

The chain yanked taut as Crowley rolled around on the ground, trying to avoid getting trampled. Castiel wanted to snap at him to hold still, but knew that would be futile. One couldn't ignore survival instincts. Castiel had to end this quickly. And so he lunged forward, blade angled down to stab through the bull's head.

But either Crowley flipped the wrong direction at the wrong moment, or Castiel didn't have as much leeway as he thought, and the blow missed, the tip of the blade slicing across one of the bull's eyes and down its face instead. With an ear-rattling shriek, the bull reared back. Castiel tried to strike again, but the beast was thrashing its head back and forth too wildly.

An obsidian horn glinted a fraction of a second before it swung sideways and caught Castiel in the stomach. Fiery pain speared through him, stealing his breath away as the bull lifted him off his feet. With another toss of its head, the creature threw Castiel aside to smack into the cave wall. His angel blade clattered out of his hand, and darkness swamped over him before he hit the ground.

Crowley's arm nearly wrenched from its socket when Castiel went flying. Before he could get a proper curse out, though, a massive hoof slammed down near his head, and Crowley had to focus on getting out from under Seri's legs before the white bull could pummel him into ground beef.

Crowley twisted one way, then the other, and finally managed to scrabble to his feet. The chain snapping straight almost yanked him back down again, and he skidded around to keep his balance. Teshub's bull continued to thrash and rage, shaking her head and trying to rub her ruined eye against her foreleg as blood oozed down her face. Those horns were coming dangerously close to an unconscious Castiel in the process.

Against his better judgement, Crowley leaped forward and lashed the chain around the bull's neck. Seri reared up in response, hefting Crowley off the ground. Castiel got flung a couple of feet like a rag doll, but Crowley couldn't care about that at the moment. He held on for dear life, attempting to tighten the chain like a noose around the beast's neck. Unfortunately, he didn't have enough length for that.

The chain was inhibiting Seri's range of movement, though, dragging her head lower. Crowley spotted Castiel's blade lying nearby, and shot one hand out to grab it. He nearly lost his hold on the bull, but managed to snatch up the weapon, which he twirled once and rammed into the side of Seri's neck.

She bucked, a choked gargle sputtering from her throat. Hot liquid dribbled down Crowley's hand as he gave the blade a sharp twist. The bull jerked and went limp, crashing to the ground with a heavy thud.

Crowley lay draped over the head, panting as he tried to regain his breaths. He had just killed one of Teshub's sacred bulls, which was definitely not going to win him any points.

Sliding to the ground, he crawled to Castiel, who lay face down in the dirt. Crowley gripped the angel's shoulder and rolled him over, exposing an abdomen drenched in blood. Wisps of grace were leaking out of the hole in the shirt, illuminating the cave.

Crowley bit back a groan. "Bollocks."

He'd leave Castiel here if he weren't currently chained to the angel. Crowley glanced at the angel blade he now possessed, mind whirring with options. He supposed he'd only been half kidding back when he suggested Castiel cut off his arm, and that would solve the problem of lugging around annoying dead weight. But confound it, Crowley had given his word. And that meant something, at least to him. Plus, he'd sort of walked himself into a corner with that little speech about demons being more honorable than angels.

He gave Castiel a rough shake. The angel moaned, eyelids fluttering sluggishly.

"We need to go, now," he urged.

When Castiel didn't immediately move to get up, Crowley tucked the angel blade in his suit jacket and pulled the angel's arm across his shoulder. Grunting, he hefted Castiel to his feet and started limping away from the scene, before Teshub showed up.

Castiel could barely keep his feet, tripping over them with each step and nearly causing Crowley to take a nose-dive with him. He was beginning to think it wasn't worth the effort, even to sustain is unimpeachable reputation. He could probably think of a loophole, something to get out of the impromptu deal he'd made. Besides, if he broke their agreement now, he could just call it even for Castiel backing out on the Purgatory gig.

He slowed his pace even more, hand almost twitching toward the angel blade again. And yet…Crowley couldn't bring himself to do it.

Damn it all to Hell, he was not going soft! No, keeping Castiel alive would be more useful in figuring a way out of the labyrinth than killing him. Yes, that was it. Crowley's decision to help the angel was purely out of self-motivated survival.

But damn, the feather brain was heavy. Crowley lugged Castiel down several more twists and turns in the tunnel, wanting to put as much distance as possible between them and the dead bull. But Castiel was fading quickly, the glow of escaping grace lighting the tunnel, and no, that wasn't at all disconcerting.

Crowley finally spotted an alcove that went in seven feet from the main passage. There weren't any bones lying around, so he'd take it as uninhabited. Hauling Castiel just a little further, Crowley finally swung the angel off his shoulder and let him slump down against the wall. He frowned at the still glowing wound, which could potentially give their location away.

He knelt down and slapped Castiel's cheek until the angel's eyes opened to half-mast. "You're leaking. Stop it up, will you?"

Castiel let out a pained grunt. "Sigil…blocking healing."

Of bloody course it was. Actually, it was fortunate Castiel had taken that blow, because otherwise it could have been Crowley lying here, meatsuit unable to function well with a gaping hole in its center.

He sighed. But it also meant he had to play nursemaid to an ailing angel. Crowley was used to inflicting wounds, not patching them up, and it took him a few moments to remember what exactly he should do.

Ah, yes, apply pressure. He grabbed a fistful of Castiel's coat and bunched it up around the puncture hole, then pressed down hard.

Castiel's back arched off the wall, and he sucked in a sharp gasp that quickly turned into a drawn out groan.

"Keep it down," Crowley griped, glancing over his shoulder at the main tunnel. They'd be trapped in this alcove if anything came upon them—not ideal. But he couldn't drag an injured and bleeding angel around these passages, either. The blood might attract something.

Crowley's mouth turned down. "Here, hold this for a second." He stood up and went back down toward the nook's opening as far as he could, scuffing his shoe over the dirt to cover the blood drops Castiel had spilled on their way in. There was nothing he could do about their entire trail, unfortunately.

He went back to the angel and found Castiel's lax hand lying in his lap, compress abandoned. Crowley crouched down and resumed applying pressure himself. "Will you heal at all?" If not, he was definitely going to have to re-evaluate things.

Castiel managed to level a seething glower at him—impressive given the blood loss. But then, Castiel had always been stubbornly defiant.

"I won't die," he answered.

Hm, that wasn't quite the response Crowley was looking for. His thoughts slid to the angel blade now tucked in his jacket, but he dismissed it. His own situation wasn't that dire yet. And they could use this downtime to come up with a plan.

Except, when Crowley glanced back at Castiel, he found the angel completely slumped over with eyes closed. Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Fine, I'll do all the work," he muttered. He was tired of maintaining the makeshift compress, and so with an exasperated sigh, reached up to undo his tie, which he then looped behind Castiel and tied it tight across the angel's stomach. Castiel didn't stir, though it must have hurt.

Grumbling more to himself, Crowley scooted to the other side of the small shaft and sagged against the cave wall. He watched Castiel's labored breaths for several long minutes, trying to imagine what he would have done if this had happened with Naomi. He probably wouldn't have killed her—because he didn't have a weapon capable of killing angels back then, Crowley assured himself. It wasn't that Castiel was special or anything.

Though, sure, the angel could be amusing, and useful. Killing him wouldn't serve a significant purpose, and therefore Crowley wasn't ready to entertain the notion. Yes, Castiel's current condition was a wrench in the works, but the angel could still prove useful, even once they got out of this place, for Crowley suspected Castiel might be very willing to help him track down Rowena.

Crowley tipped his head back to gaze at the rocky ceiling. He hoped his mother was currently enjoying herself with whatever frivolous pursuits she desired, because once Crowley got out of here, Rowena was going to rue the day she ever came back into his life.

Chapter Text

Castiel woke groggily to an insistent, throbbing pain in his stomach. A moan escaped his throat before he could stop it, and he shifted uncomfortably against what felt like rocks digging into his back. Oh, right, he was stuck in a labyrinth.

Castiel pried his eyes open. His vision was dimmer than usual, likely due to his weakened state, but he was able to vaguely make out a figure sitting against the opposite wall. Crowley. The heavy metal clamped around Castiel's wrist reminded him they were currently chained together, and the pulse of fire in his abdomen brought back the memory of fighting an enraged bull.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Castiel pushed himself up straighter in order to examine his wound. He furrowed his brow at the red tie binding a wadded up portion of his coat against the injury. Had Crowley…? Castiel had to squint against the darkness, but it looked like the demon was currently missing his tie. He was surprised Crowley had even bothered, rather than just leave Castiel to languish and heal on his own.

Though, by the looks of things, Castiel was not healing as much as he'd hoped. He carefully picked at the edges of the makeshift bandage, and grimaced at the brief glimpse of the wound. It was still open and raw, though grace had stopped seeping through. Castiel could tell it was in fact healing, albeit sluggishly, as the sigiled manacle around his wrist was blocking most of his healing power.

"Ah, Sleeping Beauty's awake," Crowley's uncaring voice spoke up.

Castiel wondered how long he'd been out. He didn't ask, though, as it would've been impossible for Crowley to mark the time anyway. "No sign of Teshub?" he asked instead.

"No," Crowley replied. "How's the hole in the gut?"

Castiel clenched his jaw. "Fine." He attempted to sit up straighter in an effort to show more strength, but was sabotaged by the burst of pain that ripped through him, contorting his facial muscles as he bit back a grunt.

Crowley snorted. "I can see that."

"There's no need to be in a rush to move," Castiel pointed out. "At least we're moderately sheltered in here, and unless you came up with a reasonable plan, we have nowhere else to be."

Crowley rolled his eyes, but didn't argue the point. Castiel glanced around the alcove they'd taken refuge in. It was small and hardly defensible, not that being out in the open was any better. Castiel took out his phone to use the LED light to at least run over the walls in search of burrows that might let any unwanted creatures in. Thankfully, there were none.

Still, they needed to be prepared for anything. Jolting with sudden realization, Castiel began patting down his coat for his angel blade. He'd dropped it when the bull threw him against the wall…

"Looking for this?"

Castiel stiffened as Crowley pulled said weapon from his suit jacket. The King of Hell turned the hilt this way and that, as though admiring the craftsmanship. Castiel gritted his teeth, shifting again to lean forward a fraction. He wasn't strong enough to force Crowley to give it back…

With a smug grin, Crowley slipped the blade back into his jacket. "I think it's best if I hold onto it for now. You're not exactly in any shape to fight, which I guess makes me the knight in shining armor for the moment."

Castiel glowered his disapproval. Unfortunately, he couldn't argue Crowley's point; Castiel was in no condition to defend against Teshub or any of his creatures inhabiting the labyrinth. He'd have to rely on Crowley, a situation that irked him to no end. Castiel couldn't say he trusted—or mistrusted—the demon; he would just prefer not to be in a position where he was just as likely to be saved as screwed.

"I'm sure we could fashion an appropriate weapon for you out of something," Castiel suggested.

Crowley's lips twitched, obviously enjoying his leverage far too much. "What's the matter, Castiel? Worried? You know I've had ample time to kill you already if I wanted to."

Castiel bit back a growl. That was true. On the contrary, Crowley had taken the time to tend Castiel's wound. Why? To even the score from Castiel saving Crowley first? Yes, that was probably it. Crowley hated to be in debt to anyone.

"So what is the plan?" Castiel asked wearily, sagging back against the wall with a grimace.

"Can't exactly do much with you laid up, can we?"

Castiel leveled a piercing stare at him. "I told you I would manage. I meant for later. Teshub will not help us, and we can't do anything as long as we're stuck in these cuffs."

A muscle in Crowley's cheek ticked. "I'm working on it."

Castiel almost retorted sarcastically with how that made him feel so much better, but didn't. It was more of a Dean thing to say, anyway. He briefly wondered whether the Winchesters might find a way to rescue them. He dismissed the thought quickly, though—along with the flare of hope it brought. Sam and Dean would have nowhere to start in their search, and probably had their hands full with something else, just as they always did.

An enraged bellow echoed through the tunnels then, jolting them both. Castiel winced from his wound tugging, and almost reached for an angel blade he no longer possessed. The shout was a distance away, though, that much he could tell.

Crowley shifted nervously. "Guess he found Seri."

Castiel frowned. "Who?"

"The bull. She was one of his favorites."

"Oh." Castiel listened as another shout of fury and malice reverberated through the walls. "Did you kill it?"

Crowley shrugged one shoulder. "You're welcome."

Castiel rolled his eyes. Slaying the bull had saved the demon's life as much as his. But leave it to Crowley to spin it so it seemed Castiel was in his debt.

He shifted in discomfort again. Castiel needed to rest if he was going to recover enough for them to make their next move. If they ever figured out what that might be. And even though showing weakness annoyed him, Castiel couldn't keep his eyes from beginning to drift shut. A small voice urged him to stay awake, yet it was negligible. Castiel would just have to trust Crowley to keep watch.

o.0.o

Castiel jolted awake as the ground beneath him juddered. For a split moment, he wondered if the tunnel was collapsing, but then he heard Crowley give a shout, and Castiel jerked his head up as the demon lunged toward a bulky shape filling the alcove. The creature roared and swung its head. Castiel's heart stuttered. Not another bull.

This one was black as shadow, though with ivory horns that gleamed as though possessing their own, muted light. Crowley swung Castiel's angel blade, but missed. Steam snorted from the bull's nostrils, and it bowed its head forward to butt Crowley in the chest. The demon landed hard on his back, angel blade clattering away. Crowley tried to scramble after it, but the bull lifted a leg and kicked the demon square in the head. Crowley collapsed with a thud, completely out cold.

Castiel struggled upright and tried to crawl toward the weapon. His arm jerked taut, just out of reach with Crowley anchoring him in place. A hulking figure stepped out from behind the bull then, and slowly bent down to pick up the angel blade.

Teshub's eyes gleamed as he leered down at Castiel. "No one escapes," he rumbled. He withdrew his triple thunderbolt from his belt, the lightning sparking upon activation. Sizzling blue light illuminated the madness in Teshub's pupils before the weapon shot a bolt out at Castiel, and the angel was consumed in a blazing supernova.

Dean slammed the book he'd been reading closed and shoved it across the table. Worthless, just like all the other lore volumes he'd checked. Sure, they'd managed to identify a possible pocket dimension where Cas and Crowley had been sent to, a prison of sorts for an ancient Mesopotamian god. But there was nothing about how to get in. Or out.

And Rowena was being damn stubborn about not sharing. She'd been locked in the bunker's dungeon for two days already, and though the Winchesters had tried to barter her freedom in exchange for bringing her son and Castiel back, she refused. Blathered on about being in this situation before and not trusting a Winchester's word.

Dean was still sore about Sam keeping secrets from him. Again. Especially after they'd agreed not to. How was he supposed to be open and honest with Sam when he couldn't trust his brother to return the favor?

Not only that, but trying to kill Crowley? That was up there on the top ten stupidest things Sam has ever tried. And with their history, that was saying something.

Dean also didn't know what to make of the fact that Crowley and Cas had teamed up to cure him of the Mark. Just the visual of those two working together brought up bad memories of popping Purgatory. And releasing the Darkness was just as bad. But this time they'd done it to save him. Sam ridiculed Dean's apparent 'friendship' with the King of Hell, though Dean wouldn't quite call it that. He actually didn't know what to call the weird on-again, off-again partnership they had. But when it came down to it, Crowley could often be a useful ally, so yeah, Dean was willing to rescue him from that pocket dimension.

But more importantly, they needed to get Cas back. Dean had a lot to apologize for, especially to the angel. Every so often Dean's gaze would drift to the side of the library where Dean had left Cas, bloody and broken and half-dead, and his stomach would roil as the taste of violence rose in his throat like bile. He didn't have the Mark's bloodlust anymore, which made the memories all the more sickening.

He shook himself out of it and turned back to the books spread across the table. What they needed was the Book of the Damned, since that's probably what Rowena had used to banish Cas and Crowley. But the Book hadn't been in her possessions, just the Codex. Another thing Rowena wasn't willing to give up, and she wasn't intimidated by the Winchesters' threats. If Dean still had the Mark, he'd be sure to change her mind in a snap. But with that thought came unbidden memories of going ballistic on Metatron, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the assault. He didn't want to go there again, couldn't go there. Because if he did, even to save Cas, he'd be destroying what everyone had sacrificed to save in him.

Fighting a wave of despair and helplessness, Dean grabbed another book and roughly flipped it open. He doubted he'd find anything useful, but they had to keep trying.

A while later, Sam strode into the room and dropped an iron ring on the table with a heavy clunk. "I think we can force Rowena to help us."

Dean arched his brows at the device, which had seven spikes lining the inside of the metal circle, and what appeared to be a leash. "Didn't know the Men of Letters were into BDSM."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's a witchcatcher. I was searching the archives for portal keys, like the one to Oz, and found this. It forces a witch to obey whatever the person who put it on says."

Dean surged out of his seat and scooped the collar up. "Then let's test it."

He headed straight for the dungeon, Sam on his heels. Rowena was sitting chained to the chair in the center of the room, just as they'd left her. She lifted her head with a smug grin when they entered.

"Hullo, boys. You know, I could really go for a spot of tea. I'm positively parched."

"I have something else in mind," Dean said, and moved forward to snap the collar around her neck.

Rowena tried to jerk away, but her bonds kept her in place. "Get this bloody thing off of me!" she shrilled, composure finally shattered.

"Guess you know what this is," Dean said. "So you know it makes you our slave."

Rowena forced herself into stillness again and scoffed, though Dean could see a vein in her forehead throbbing. Sam stepped forward and unlocked the chains holding her down. Dean really hoped his brother was right about this contraption…

The chains fell away, and Sam hauled Rowena to her feet. "Hop on one foot," he told her.

"Please, Samuel, I don't know what kind of Fifty Shades you think you're playing at, but if you think for a second…" Rowena's face slackened in disbelief as she lifted one leg and began to hop.

Dean blinked dubiously as Sam crossed his arms in satisfaction.

Rowena's cheeks puffed red. "Bollocks."

"Alright, let's do this," Dean said. He frowned when Rowena kept hopping. "Knock that off," he snipped, and she stopped. Dean removed the magic canceling handcuffs now that Rowena couldn't turn against them. "Bring Cas and Crowley back, now."

Practically spitting in rage, Rowena nevertheless closed her eyes and began to chant. Dean felt a prickle of nervousness, but this witchcatcher thing seemed to be doing the trick. Still, he exchanged a wary look with Sam.

After several long moments of Rowena chanting, she finally stopped, eyes snapping open with an expression of incredulity. "It's not working."

Dean straightened. "What the hell do you mean it's not working?"

"Something's blocking me," she replied, a smirk returning to her lips. "Nice try, boys. Looks like I still win."

Dean clenched his fists. Dammit, this was supposed to have worked!

"Did you know that would happen if you tried to bring them back?" Sam demanded.

Rowena scowled at him. "No. They're not bound to the prison, so I should have been able to pull them back out. But it seems something in there has somehow anchored them so they can't escape." She paused, eyes dancing. "Or they're dead."

Dean wanted to smack that grin off her face, but he held himself back. "Go stand in the corner and hop on one foot again," he snapped.

Rowena's mouth dropped open as her body pivoted of its own accord, and she marched into the corner to do as told, seething bloody murder.

"Face the wall," Dean ordered. He then turned to Sam. "Now what? Rowena was our only shot."

Sam shook his head, looking just as much at a loss as Dean felt.

"Dammit," Dean muttered, running a hand down his face. "If something's trapped them there…who knows what's being done to them."

"What if they are dead?" Sam asked in a low voice.

"They're not," Dean said firmly. "Crowley's too resourceful and Cas is too stubborn. They're not dead. Something's just got them trapped there."

Sam lifted his shoulders helplessly. "I don't see what we can do about it, Dean."

He gritted his teeth. No, he was not losing this one. Not after everything they'd been through. He spun back toward Rowena. "Can you send me in and then pull us all back out when I find them?"

Rowena's cheeks puffed with frustration as she was forced to answer. "Possibly."

"Dean," Sam started to protest, but he shook his head at his brother.

"No, Sam. If there's a chance, I'm taking it. And with Rowena forced to obey, she's not gonna be double-crossing us. Are you?" He turned a smug grin toward the witch, who fumed at him. "You can stop hopping now," Dean added.

A muscle in Sam's jaw ticked, but he didn't try to talk Dean out of it. He turned to Rowena instead. "Will finding them provide enough of a connection, or do we have to figure out what's blocking them from your power and break it?"

"Depends on what's blocking me. Though it's probably something simple like a cage, not a blood spell, which would be harder to break." Her eyes gleamed as though she desperately hoped that would be the case anyway.

Sam let out a frustrated breath. "Okay, guess we should try."

"Not we," Dean said. "Me."

"Dean—"

"Someone needs to stay here and keep Rowena in check. Even with that collar on, I don't trust her."

Sam sputtered. "Dean, you can't just go flying into a pocket dimension we know nothing about, alone."

"We've faced worse," Dean countered. "And I'll be fine. Besides, once I find Cas and Crowley, I won't be alone."

Sam shot him a bitch-face. "It's a labyrinth, Dean. It could take you forever to find them. And what if something happens to you?" The unspoken I just got you back hung in the air between them. "We should both go."

Dean shook his head. "We don't have anyone who can watch Rowena."

"Then you stay and I'll go."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on, man."

"It's my fault Cas is in this mess," Sam argued. "I…I need to fix it."

Dean looked away, throat growing tight at a surge of emotion. "You're not the only one who has something to fix with Cas," he said hoarsely. He looked back to meet his brother's gaze. "I have to do this, Sam."

Sam let out a heavy breath, but finally gave a clipped nod. "Okay, but we're gonna set a time limit, at which point Rowena is bringing you back, whether you found them or not."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam cut him off.

"If you're okay, we can try again. And if not, you can thank me for saving your ass so you can try again." Sam crossed his arms.

Dean sighed. "Fine. But like you said, it's a labyrinth. You gotta give me enough time."

"Six hours," Sam agreed, then turned to Rowena. "Any way he can contact you to let you know if he's found them before then?"

She scowled. "I can whip up a charm that will allow him to send a beacon."

Sam nodded. "Good." Taking a deep breath, he looked back at Dean resolutely. "Let's go get Cas."

Chapter Text

Crowley groaned as consciousness returned. His head was pounding in a way it hadn't since he'd been a drunk mortal, and it took him a moment to remember a bull's hoof clobbering him into oblivion. That didn't explain why his shoulders were also killing him, though… Dragging his eyelids open, Crowley found himself upright, arms strung up above his head and lashed to a stake that had been erected in the middle of Teshub's throne room.

Bollocks.

He turned his head to evaluate his surroundings, vision blurring at the movement. Once it cleared, Crowley spotted Castiel to his left, tied to another pole in the same manner. The angel's chin rested against his chest, eyes closed and limbs slack in the chains. Crowley squinted, pain throbbing behind his eyes, but he was able to discern sigil work on the extra chains Teshub had scrounged up to restrain them. Bloody pagan must have taken some pointers from the manacles already binding them, and what little strength Crowley had before now felt locked down completely. He might say he was essentially mortal at this point, which did not bode well for either him or Castiel. A quick glance at the angel's stomach didn't reveal whether that wound had healed more or not, though Crowley was betting on the latter.

A gruff snort drew his attention to his right where Teshub and his other bull, Hurri, stood in front of a burning pyre. The smell of charred flesh registered in his nostrils then, making Crowley's stomach roll in addition to the nausea he already felt from his concussion.

As though sensing he was awake, Teshub turned slowly to fix Crowley with a dark glower. "You will pay for this."

Crowley tried to subtly tug against his restraints, which only made his head swim more. "It was the angel," he rasped. "He slew Seri."

He and Castiel were beyond deals at this point. Crowley would be lucky to get out of this intact, let alone alive.

Teshub came to stand before him, towering at least a foot over the demon. Menacing eyes slid toward the unconscious angel before returning to Crowley. "You are a liar and a thief. It matters not who delivered the killing blow, you will both suffer my wrath."

Behind him, Hurri chuffed a steaming puff of breath in apparent agreement.

Teshub walked over to the far wall where a long table sat, mostly arrayed with dust-coated platters and chicken bones left from long ago dishes. The pagan god reached underneath the table and pulled out a whip with a cat o' nine tails on the end. Each strip of leather had barbs affixed to them.

Crowley shifted nervously. "Teshub, perhaps we can make a deal. I could help you find a way to escape this place—"

The sharp crack of the whip silenced him as Teshub struck the ground with it, knocking loose chinks of sediment.

"I know better than to listen to your poisonous words," the deity said, coming closer. "I would much rather listen to your screams."

Crowley opened his mouth to plead his case again, but Teshub arched his arm back and cracked the whip. Fiery barbs sliced through Crowley's shirt and into his chest, ripping a scream from his throat instead.

Stepping through Rowena's portal felt like Dean's trip out of Purgatory: swirling wind and lights and the feeling of getting sucked forward into a vacuum. It only lasted a few seconds, and suddenly Dean found himself in a dark tunnel. Lit torches spaced several yards apart cast fluttering shadows like skittish critters across the rock walls. Dean waited for a beat, listening, getting his bearings. He turned in a slow circle, spotting at least two forks in the passage. Would've been nice if he could have gotten a map before coming in.

Squaring his shoulders, he picked a tunnel and hoped it would lead him straight to Cas, and not the 'Teshub' Rowena said lived here.

"Hey, Cas, I don't know if being in the same dimension means you can now hear my prayers, but I'm coming for you, okay? So just hang in there."

It was only belatedly that Dean wondered whether hearing that prayer would even be a comfort to the angel. After all, the last Cas had seen of him, Dean had almost driven his friend's own angel blade into Cas's heart.

"The Mark's gone…" he added, only to trail off. He probably should have prayed something more, but his mind stalled. What would he say? 'Sorry'? Oh, he owed Cas an apology, alright, but it had to be in person, after he saved his best friend from this place.

Dean thought he'd been wandering perhaps twenty minutes when an agonized howl echoed down the tunnel. He pulled to an abrupt stop, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. When another scream followed, Dean bolted into a run, trying to pinpoint the direction the sounds were coming from. He took the passages that were lit with torches, figuring those were more inhabited than the shafts that plunged into darkness. The screams had stopped, and Dean didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

He spotted an arch up ahead that appeared to open up into a larger, more illuminated space, and headed straight for it. Sure enough, it was a vast chamber with sculpted support columns and a throne in the center of the wide area. Dean slowed at the fire trench, sweeping his gaze around to evaluate the scene before charging in guns blazing.

He'd come in through a side tunnel, which gave him a clear view of two stakes erected in the middle of the cavern—and the two bodies tied to them. Dean stiffened, immediately recognizing the tan trench coat before he registered Cas's face, which was slack in unconsciousness. Crowley was tied to the next stake over, his clothes hanging in tattered, bloody shreds that fluttered with each ragged breath that wheezed from his chest. Blood was also spattered across the ground in rusted brown splotches. A brute of a man stood in front of them, holding a whip in one hand. The barbed ends trailed through the dirt, bright crimson coating the nine tails several inches up.

Dean's stomach lurched as the pagan deity turned his head toward Cas, but instead of raising the whip, he let it fall to the ground. Dean's relief was short lived, however, because Teshub drew an angel blade from his belt and tapped the flat side of the blade against his palm.

"Perhaps an angel sacrifice would give me enough power to break out of my prison," the god mused out loud. He stepped forward and set the tip of the blade under Cas's chin, tilting the angel's head up. "Angel blood would make a potent ingredient."

Dean's heart rate ratcheted up, and he drew his own angel blade. He sprinted across the narrow land bridge, hoping to take the pagan god by surprise. But before he'd crossed half the chamber, a huge shadow leaped out from behind a burning pyre. Dean nearly pitched forward onto his face as he skidded to a stop. A fuming black bull was blocking his path. He stumbled back a few feet, grip tightening on the hilt of his blade.

Teshub slowly walked over, stopping next to the bull's head and giving it a pat. "More visitors?" he grumbled, gaze roving up and down Dean. His mouth turned down. "A human? I haven't received a human sacrifice in…well, a very long time."

Dean flicked his eyes toward Cas and Crowley. Now that he was closer, he could see they were both tied up with what looked like sigiled chains. That must have been what was blocking Rowena from getting them out. Which meant Dean had to free them before they could all escape. With a gut-punch realization, he noticed the dried patch of blood on Cas's shirt. The angel may not have been scourged like Crowley, but he wasn't in much better shape.

Crowley lifted hooded eyes to meet his, and it was obvious the demon was struggling just to hold his gaze. Dean never thought he'd see the normally primped and polished King of Hell looking like someone after a first treatment on the rack. Crowley's eyes wavered with barely concealed pain, but also his usual fire that demanded Dean stop dawdling and get him down already.

Yeah, working on it, he mentally retorted.

"You are a strange looking gladiator," Tehsub commented.

Dean forced his attention back to the obstacles in front of him. "I'm a hunter." He hesitated, then cocked his head toward Cas and Crowley. "I'm here for those two."

Teshub's eyes flashed. "They're mine." He drew his shoulders back. "And now so are you. It's been a while since Hurri has had some sport."

Before Dean could ask who that was, the bull snorted a puff of steaming breath from its nostrils and stamped its hoof. Ah, that was Hurri.

Teshub stepped away to lean against one of the stone columns, slipping the angel blade into his belt and crossing his arms to watch. Dean made a mental note to get that back, as it was probably Cas's. But then the bull let out a guttural snort, and surged forward.

Dean dove to the side, landing hard on the ground as the bull trampled past him. It spun around, kicking up a flurry of dirt, and charged again. Dean had barely gained his feet before the beast plowed into him. Somehow he got caught between the horns, and was lifted up into the air. His stomach dropped out from under him as he was flipped over the bull's back.

Dean crashed into a table, snapping the aged wood into pieces and slamming into something like an armoire right next to it. The whole thing tipped over with a resounding clatter, spilling its contents across the floor. Pain lanced down Dean's shoulders and spine, knocking the breath from his lungs.

He tried to force himself up, momentarily dazed and wondering where the hell his angel blade had gone. His hands were empty, and he slapped them around in search of the weapon. For a brief moment, he missed the power of the Mark. It would have given him the advantage he needed. Now he was just a man again; how the hell was he supposed to beat a supernatural bull?

The ground beneath him shook, the only warning he had that the beast was charging again. Glancing around frantically, Dean scooped up a spear lying nearby. Guess that wardrobe locker had been full of weapons.

Hurri lumbered toward him, and Dean thrust the spear up at the last second, skewering the bull right through the chest. It reared up with a screeching bleat. Dean rolled away from the flailing hooves, Teshub's enraged cry echoing through the chamber a moment before the bull pitched sideways to land with a heavy thud.

Dean scrambled to his feet, but Teshub moved faster and had a hand wrapped around his throat before he could regain a weapon. Dean grabbed at the brute's unyielding wrist and forearm as he was hefted off the ground, feet dangling helplessly.

"How dare you!" Teshub seethed, spittle flying from his mouth. His fingers cramped tighter, sending bursts of pain and panic firing through Dean's neurons. "You think to enter my domain, take what's mine?"

Dean clawed frantically at the pagan deity's vambrace.

"You are worm food," he hissed, bringing Dean closer so that his eyes watered from Teshub's hot, fuming breath.

"You know what all you pagan gods have in common?" he ground out painfully. With his eyes focused on Teshub's, Dean dropped one arm as though giving up struggling. "You always underestimate the worm food."

Teshub sneered.

"And by the way," Dean grunted, snatching Cas's angel blade from the god's belt. "This isn't yours." He drove it into the side of Teshub's throat.

The pagan's eyes flew wide, mouth dropping open in utter shock. Dean twisted the blade, and finally the brute let go of him. Dean collapsed on the ground gasping as Teshub swayed momentarily on his feet, and then toppled like a felled tree.

Dean sucked in several harsh breaths before crawling over to the dead deity and ripping the blade from his neck. After wiping it clean on the guy's war skirt, Dean staggered to his feet.

"Key," Crowley's hoarse voice spoke up.

Dean spotted a key ring on Teshub's belt and scooped that up before quickly hobbling over to Cas and Crowley. He unlocked the chains stringing them both up, and ducked in to catch Cas when they both pitched forward. But Dean was still a little dizzy himself, and they all ended up sprawled on the ground.

Dean immediately twisted around and rolled Cas over so he could check that wound. It had a loose compress, but there was a lot of blood staining the dress shirt, suit jacket, and trench coat. Underneath was a large puncture that Dean almost mistook for an angel blade, but the size was wrong.

"Don't mind me," Crowley grumbled. "I'm perfectly fine after having the meat stripped off my bones."

"You'll obviously live," Dean retorted, only sparing a glance at the shape Crowley was in. And yeah, he didn't look so good, but he was conscious, which was more than could be said for Cas. "Why isn't he healing?" Dean demanded.

"You missed one," Crowley growled, and shook his wrist.

Dean realized one of the chains had Crowley and Cas actually cuffed together…and wait a second, those were from the bunker. The magic canceling cuffs.

"Dammit, Sam," he muttered, though it wasn't really Sam's fault. Well, not fully his fault. But they could play that blame game till they were blue in the face, and the fact was they all shared some culpability. Dean fished his spare key out of his pocket and undid Crowley's manacle first, then Cas's.

"About bloody time," Crowley breathed, and nearly collapsed in apparent relief.

Dean ignored him, taking Cas's face in his hands. "Cas? Come on, buddy, wake up." It was only when Cas's eyelids fluttered in response that Dean remembered this was almost exactly how their last encounter had gone—only then Dean had been looming over Cas with an angel blade.

Dean hastily stowed the blade in his jacket, and then shifted to pull Cas partway into his arms, hoping his best friend wouldn't be terrified the moment Cas realized he was there. Dean would deserve it, but he figured Cas had been through enough recently.

"Cas?"

Cas's forehead creased as he fought to pry his eyes open. "Dean?" he rasped.

"Yeah. I came to get you out of here."

Cas frowned, pupils still slightly cloudy. "You did?"

Dean thought he would've preferred anger, maybe even a reflex of fear, from his friend, rather than utter disbelief that Dean would come for him. "Of course I did."

Cas blinked blearily a few times, but at least seemed to be getting more lucid. He slowly lifted one hand toward Dean's forearm. "The Mark?"

"Gone." Dean shifted his grip on Cas so he could roll his sleeve up. "Rowena's spell worked."

Cas practically sagged in such relief that Dean didn't have the heart to tell him about the Darkness yet.

"You gonna heal with the cuffs off, right?"

"Yes." Cas tried to lift himself up, but grimaced and fell back against Dean's arm.

"Okay, okay, take it easy." Dean didn't know if Cas was being overly optimistic, or if his grace just needed some time after being on lockdown for so long. He really hoped the latter.

"I don't understand," Cas wheezed. "How did you get here?"

"We found Rowena and she told us how she banished you," Dean explained. "I would've been here sooner, but it took us a while to figure out how to force her to bring you back. Luckily the Men of Letters had a witchcatcher, but then something was blocking her powers—I'm guessing the sigiled chains. She opened the portal so I could come in."

Cas leveled a disapproving glare at him, which was kinda impressive given he still couldn't get off the ground. "That was rather dangerous."

Dean snorted. "Look who's talking."

Crowley leveraged himself upright. "Are you saying my mother is in your quaint bunker, under the control of a witchcatcher?"

Dean flicked a glance his way. "Yeah. And she'll bring us all back as soon as I activate this beacon." He pulled the iron token out of his pocket.

Crowley's eyes flashed dangerously. "Just give me a moment, then."

Dean frowned. "For what?"

Crowley grunted as he slowly got to his feet, the wounds on his meatsuit gradually mending back together. "For me to fix my suit," he snipped. "Can't have Mother Dearest thinking she's bested me."

Dean gaped at him in bewilderment, but Crowley merely staggered a few feet away, apparently to put himself back together.

Cas shifted in Dean's arms, trying to get up as well.

"You okay?" Dean asked warily, keeping a hand at Cas's back, just in case.

Cas nodded, even though the lines of his face were still pinched in pain. "I will be."

A lump lodged in Dean's throat, and he swallowed hard to force it down. He had to get this out, before they went back and got caught up in the next 'end of the world' showdown. "Cas, listen…what happened back at the bunker…" He ran his free hand over his hair. "'Sorry' doesn't cut it."

Cas didn't look at him for an extra moment. "You weren't yourself, Dean," he said softly. "I know that."

He shook his head sharply. "That's not an excuse. Part of it was me, Cas. What I did…" His throat constricted. "I don't deserve your forgiveness."

Cas lifted his head, fixing Dean with that soul piercing gaze that he was accustomed to, often lectured Cas for, and had secretly missed.

"You have it anyway."

One thing Dean had to admire about Cas—the angel was always so damn sincere. He didn't hold a grudge, not the way Dean had in the past. It both humbled and exasperated him.

"You almost died," he ground out. "First by my hand, then by helping me. It wasn't worth it." Not with the price Cas had paid, not with the Darkness on the loose.

Cas reached out to take his forearm, the one clear of the Mark. "Saving you will always be worth it, Dean. To me."

Dean squared his jaw, taking his arm out of Cas's grip to grasp the angel's shoulder instead. "And I will always come for you, no matter what trouble you're in. You hear me?" Dean needed Cas to understand that, that their friendship, their brotherhood, was not one way. Even if Dean made it seem like it was sometimes.

The corner of Cas's mouth twitched upward. "I hear you."

"Alright," Crowley interrupted, walking back over. Dean did a double-take at the repaired suit. "Now we can go."

Dean scowled, but he had to admit he wanted to get out of this hell hole too. Holding the charmed token flat in the palm of his hand, he uttered the activation word. "Excitant."

A moment later, the air wobbled, and Dean felt a familiar tug down to his core. He latched his hand around Cas's arm, just to ensure the angel wouldn't get lost on the way home. The portal opened up, and they were sucked in.

Chapter Text

Sam shifted his weight nervously as wind from the portal buffeted his face. Rowena had received the signal from Dean to pull him out, but it'd only been less than an hour since he'd gone in. Had he really found Cas and Crowley that quickly? Or was Dean hurt and his only option was to get out and try again later? Given how far Dean liked to push things, Sam was afraid of what would come through that vortex.

But then there was a flash of light, and the dungeon was suddenly filled with three more people. Crowley looked as though he'd just popped in as usual, except for some grime on his face and hands. Cas's appearance was equally grungy, and Dean had a hand on the angel's upper arm in a protective manner that set off Sam's warning bells.

He immediately moved forward. "Are you guys okay?" he asked, scanning Dean first for injuries, and then Cas. There was dried blood on Cas's coat, but they were both upright and seemed well enough.

"We're good," Dean replied, though he was eyeing Cas as though not quite sure about that declaration.

Sam frowned. "Cas?"

The angel gave him a measured nod. "Hello, Sam. It's good to see you."

"You too." He glanced at Dean. "I can't believe you found them that quickly."

Dean snorted. "I wouldn't say it was quick."

"You weren't even gone an hour."

"Wait, what?" Dean shook his head. "I'm pretty sure it was longer."

"Time passes differently in pocket dimensions," Cas explained. And yeah, his voice sounded a bit tired.

Sam stiffened. "How long were you trapped in there?"

Cas's brows pinched together. "I'm…not sure. A few weeks?" He looked over at Crowley for confirmation.

"It was bloody long enough," was the demon's gruff response, and he turned a scathing glare on Rowena.

Sam, too, shot the witch a sharp look.

Rowena shrugged. "You never asked about the time ratio, Samuel."

Crowley took a step toward her, eyes glittering at the collar around her neck. "Well, aren't you all wrapped up in a pretty little bow."

Rowena clenched her fists, cheeks reddening with barely contained fury.

"I'm going to enjoy rending you limb from limb," Crowley continued.

"Whoa, whoa," Dean jumped in. "Time out."

"Stay out of this, Squirrel."

Dean finally stepped away from Cas to angle himself between Crowley and Rowena. Cas swayed slightly, and Sam quickly moved in to take his brother's place supporting the angel.

"You're pissed, I get it," Dean said. "But we've got bigger problems right now, and we're probably gonna need Rowena. Alive and in one piece."

"I don't care about whatever mess you've gotten yourselves into now," Crowley retorted.

"How about a primordial evil older than God that's on the loose and could potentially destroy everything, including Heaven and Hell?"

Crowley hesitated, eyes narrowing as though searching for a lie. Or an exaggeration. If only Dean's statement was the latter.

"So you've botched up the world again. Big surprise," Crowley muttered. "But I don't owe you anything."

Dean crossed his arms. "We did just rescue you from a dimensional prison."

"My assistance helped get the Mark off your arm."

"You wanted the Mark off me as much as anyone," Dean rejoined.

"Your brother tried to kill me." Crowley shot a murderous glare Sam's way, and he tried not to fidget under it.

"Sam found the witchcatcher that bound your mother. And it was her who tried to kill you."

"Exactly! Which is why I'm going to deal with her properly."

Dean shook his head. "We're dealing with something called the Darkness. It's big, Crowley, okay? Bigger than anything we've ever come up against. Only God was able to lock it up the first time."

The hush that fell over everyone was almost tangible. Sam felt Cas go rigid beside him, and if possible, the angel turned a shade whiter.

"That's…" Cas started in a whisper. "Not possible."

Dean glanced at Cas, and then away. "Afraid it is. The Mark was some kind of lock, and removing it…" He trailed off.

Sam's jaw tightened. It wasn't right for Dean to feel guilty over this. It'd been Sam's doing to get the Mark off his brother; it was on him. Just as a wounded Cas still a bit shaky on his feet was on Sam, too.

"Look," he spoke up. "Why don't we take some time to recoup, and then we can discuss everything that's happened."

Crowley glowered at him, but finally drew his shoulders back. "I need a drink."

With that, the King of Hell marched out of the dungeon and toward the kitchen as if he owned the place. Sam inhaled sharply in frustration, but let it go. He had other priorities at the moment.

"Maybe you should sit down," he said to Cas.

Cas nodded slowly. "I think that's a good idea." He took a staggered step toward the door, and Sam kept a hand on his arm to keep him steady.

Dean started to follow, but paused to jab a finger at Rowena. "Stay here, and don't do anything."

She fumed at him, but it wasn't like she could disobey.

Sam helped Cas up the steps to the library's study area, and then eased him into a chair.

"You finish healing?" Dean asked, kneeling in front of Cas and reaching for the angel's shirt without permission.

"Almost," Cas replied, and tried to shrug him off. "I'll be fine, Dean. You don't have to worry."

"Yeah, well, 'almost' isn't good enough," he retorted. "So you're gonna let me patch up whatever's taking its dear sweet time." Dean pushed blood crusted fabric aside to expose Cas's abdomen.

Sam leaned over to get a look, and winced in sympathy at the puncture wound.

Dean's shoulders heaved with an exasperated sigh. "Well, it's smaller, at least."

Sam's brows rose. How big had it been to begin with? "What happened?"

"I was gored by a bull," Cas replied.

Sam's mouth parted slightly. Oh, was that all?

"By Hurri?" Dean asked, ghosting careful fingers around the edges of inflamed skin.

Cas flinched. "No, Seri."

Dean stopped. "There was more than one bull?"

"Two."

"I don't get it," Sam interjected. "Why aren't you healing faster?"

"Rowena had snapped him and Crowley in irons," Dean answered first. "The power blocking chains," he added pointedly.

Sam stiffened. Then…Cas could have died.

Dean stood up with a muffled grunt. "I'm gonna grab the first aid kit."

"Dean, you really don't have to—" Cas started.

"But I'm going to. Just…humor me, okay?" There was a glimmer of remembered fear in Dean's eyes, and Sam wondered exactly how bad things had gotten in the labyrinth.

Dean disappeared down the hall, and Sam shifted his weight in discomfort. "Cas, I…I'm so sorry."

Cas tipped his head back to look up at him, a frown creasing his forehead. "For what?"

"For leaving you with Rowena. You could've been killed, or trapped a lot longer if Dean and I hadn't found her when we did."

Cas let out an exasperated huff. "Rowena was no threat to me, Sam. Or…" His voice grew quieter. "She shouldn't have been." He gave himself a small shake. "Anyway, it wasn't your fault."

Sam shook his head, glancing toward the hall to make sure Dean wasn't heading back yet. He really needed to get this out first. "It was, Cas. Because even if we both knew Rowena was that powerful…I still would've left you there. I do that—put people in danger needlessly."

"It wasn't needless; it was for Dean."

"And that's the problem. I sacrifice other people to save my brother. But, Cas…you're my brother too."

Cas's eyes squinted with that look of befuddlement he sometimes got, and it made Sam's heart ache. He and Dean never had to doubt or question their love for each other. Cas had been part of their family for a while now, and he shouldn't have had to doubt it, either. But he did, and Sam knew why.

"You always do everything you can to help us," Sam said in a soft voice. "And I take advantage of that. I knew when I told you to do whatever it took to save Dean, that you would. And…" He let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair.

"I will always help you," Cas replied, voice equally quiet.

"I know." Sam crouched down to meet his gaze. "But Dean and I don't do the same for you."

Cas glanced away. "It's alright, Sam. I do understand."

Sam reached up to clasp his forearm. "No, it's not alright. Cas, you're family. I'm…I'm gonna do better. For all our sakes."

Cas finally looked up to meet his eyes, and Sam could've sworn he saw an ocean of hope and longing in those ancient depths. It was too easy to think of angels as these beings of otherness, who didn't feel or want like humans did. Cas was different, though, had always been different. And maybe he kept coming back to the Winchesters out of yearning for something he'd never had among the angels—unconditional love and belonging. Well, Sam could give him that. He just had to get his head out of his ass a bit more to make it happen consistently.

Footsteps in the hall made Sam leap to his feet abruptly just before Dean came into the room.

"If that wound is still open, I'm stitching it up now. Fair warning."

Sam's lips quirked as he glanced at Cas, who rolled his eyes but didn't offer any more protests.

Dean set out the first aid supplies on the table, and then got to work patching up Cas's stomach. Halfway through, he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "So, the Darkness…what are we supposed to do?"

Sam's heart twinged with how lost his brother sounded.

"What we always do, I suppose," Cas answered, glancing up at Sam.

Sam nodded in understanding. "Keep on fighting."

Dean shook his head. "Yeah, but will it be enough?"

Cas reached out to still Dean's hands. "The last time I asked you that, you told me we always have been. And it was true."

Dean grimaced. "I think that's debatable, considering where we are."

"You mean together and alive?" Cas canted his head, mouth pursed to hide a smile.

Dean let out a choked laugh. "Okay, you have a point. And I'll take that over anything else."

Sam grinned. So would he.

Castiel stood on the dirt drive in front of the bunker, breathing deeply of the crisp autumn air. The bunker was a safe place…home, in many ways—but the fact that it was underground created a bit of discomfort for Castiel at the moment. He missed the sky and open air, the feel of sunlight on his face. Invisible, his mangled wings flexed a fraction, a slight breeze ruffling through sparse feathers.

The crunch of gravel interrupted his serenity, and Castiel turned to find Crowley standing off to the side, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"What did you end up negotiating with the Winchesters?" Castiel asked. He hadn't paid too much attention to those proceedings, as he doubted a witch, even one as powerful as Rowena, could be of much help against the Darkness. Still, the Winchesters didn't want to lose one of the few resources they had.

Castiel craned his head back to look at the blue sky. He still half-expected something so catastrophic as the Darkness being released to have a more obvious effect on things, but everything continued to appear peaceful.

"My mother will remain here for the time being," Crowley answered. "But only so her silver tongue can't dupe one of my idiotic demons into releasing her."

"Of course," Castiel agreed mildly, and they fell quiet for a few moments, only the crinkle of leaves and twitter of birds in the branches filling the silence.

Crowley eventually cleared his throat. "It seems we're on the same side again."

The corner of Castiel's mouth quirked upward. "For the time being."

"Since we're likely in this for the long haul," Crowley added. "I think it's best if we reset the score and start from a clean slate. I'm sure there will be plenty of tit for tats to keep track of later."

Castiel snorted under his breath. Well, at least the demon hadn't proposed starting with Crowley having one up on Castiel. "I'm sure you're right."

The two of them stood like statues for another space of silence. Then Crowley tapped his heels together.

"Well, I suppose I should get back downstairs and dig around for information on this Darkness. You heading upstairs?"

Castiel frowned. He hadn't decided. Technically he was a fugitive for breaking Metatron out. But, surely a threat as great as the Darkness meant the other angels could overlook his past sins.

"We'll see," he answered. It was something he'd have to bring up with Sam and Dean first.

"Hm," Crowley hummed thoughtfully. "Well, do me a favor and don't get yourself killed. I worked hard to keep you alive in that labyrinth, remember."

Castiel cocked his head. "I thought we weren't keeping score from that."

Crowley shrugged. "Doesn't negate my investment." He vanished without another word.

Castiel just shook his head. Yes, theirs was a complicated alliance.